


Il Campanile

by balfey



Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Chef!Claire, F/M, Italy, Modern AU, Outlander - Freeform, Slow Burn, jamie x claire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-02-22 12:48:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 35,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22650226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/balfey/pseuds/balfey
Summary: After the death of his brother, Jamie Fraser decides to leave everything behind in Scotland, to settle in Tuscany and continue the goal the siblings had to run a winery. He is heartbroken, grieving and at first, the little village of San Gimignano doesn’t seem to be what he needs.At least, not until he crosses paths with a certain curly brunette.
Relationships: Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser
Comments: 274
Kudos: 520





	1. Under The Tuscan Sun

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, guys! 
> 
> I'm back with a new story that is very dear to my heart. I hope you'll enjoy reading it as much as I'm enjoying writing it! Let me know what you think!
> 
> It'll be updated every Tuesday :)

The first _— and last —_ time that James Fraser had found himself in Italy was six months ago. Back then, the sight in front of his eyes had brought immeasurable happiness and joy to him. Now, standing in front of the freshly-purchased villa, he wanted to crumble to pieces. 

He wasn’t supposed to live here alone. He wasn’t supposed to run the winery on his own. All of this was meant to be done alongside big brother, his best friend – _William_. They had talked about this plan since they were teens, dreaming of Italy and owning their own wine business. Over the years, they had studied, worked, and saved up to be able to do it. 

They made that first trip together, visited the estate together, and bought the place together. They had the date of their move set up. Everything was ready for the Fraser brothers to start this business. They were about to take the leap when their plans had been brutally cut off. 

One misty morning, three months ago, Willie set off on his motorcycle and never came back. He stayed in a coma for two weeks before the doctors told Jamie that nothing more could be done for the young man. 

That morning, Jamie lost the last family member he still had. That morning, he lost everything. 

_Nothing was left for him in Scotland._

The Scot had not known what to do then, and he still didn’t know what to do, now. He had debts to repay, a business to jumpstart and run. As tempting as it was to throw everything away and stay put, he simply couldn’t afford it. And deep down, he knew his brother wouldn’t have wanted him to do such a thing. 

Grief-stricken but determined nonetheless, Jamie had set off to Italy to honour his brother’s memory and start to work on what they had planned together. 

_It was an easy thing to say, not so much to do._

William had been the one who spoke fluent Italian and the one who had visited the village several times. William was the business-savvy one, while Jamie only had his knowledge of oenology to guide him in this endeavour. And now, Jamie also had a huge estate that he didn’t know how to begin to manage. 

**********

“Are ye ready to go?” Mary asked, leaning against the door frame of the kitchen. “The Vespa is finally working.” 

Jamie, who had been staring at the wines through the window, was pulled out of his thoughts and turned around to look at her. “Aye. Let’s go.” 

Mary threw the key at him, which he grabbed promptly; and together, they made their way outside the villa. The house was dreamy, a two-storied one with green shutters and clay-coloured walls on the outside. Inside, the flooring was tiled and most of the furniture had been left by the previous owner — big wooden pieces that gave the place its grand feeling. The garden had to be cleaned up a bit, along with the swimming pool, but the remaining space looked like something out of _Architectural Digest._

A raw diamond that needed a wee bit of polishing. 

Jamie looked at the Vespa while he put on his helmet and bit the inside of his cheek. He used to love driving those types of things…he used to love a lot of things before his brother’s accident. 

“How far is the village, again?” he asked, getting on the red engine. 

“Only ten minutes away,” Mary said, sitting behind him and wrapping her arms around his waist. “It’s very lovely, I think ye’re gonna like living here.”

“I’m sure I will,” he answered, half-convinced, as he turned the key to start the engine. 

The village of San Gimignano was, indeed, only ten minutes away. Jamie had been here before; but somehow, his memory had blocked everything that happened shortly before Willie’s accident. It seemed to him that he was experiencing it all first time. 

His mind hadn’t recalled the shades of yellow, nor the vivid smell of lavender and the sounds of crickets. The only thing he’d remembered was the bell tower in the middle of the piazza. 

_Il campanile, they called it._

Surrounded by little shops, a cinema, a café, and what seemed like a restaurant, everything looked as if it had been frozen in the sixties. He had to admit to himself that it was a rather charming sight. It almost reminded him of the village back home — minus the rain and the wind. Here, the sun was blazing, the breeze was most welcome, and the sky was the most wonderful shade of blue. Jamie couldn’t remember the last time he saw a sky like that back home. 

He was mesmerized by it, feeling like little boy seeing it for the first time. He would have gladly stared for longer if he had not been interrupted by a piercing laugh, coming from the other side of the street and near the fountain. 

When he looked over, he felt like someone had punched him in the gut and he was suddenly thankful to still be sitting on the Vespa. 

She was laughing at something someone had said to her. Her head thrown back and her curls flying in every direction. Her mouth open, pink lips parted and white teeth flashing. She wore a grey linen wrap dress and her nails were painted red. _Vivid red._ Like the village, she too looked perfectly timeless. 

As for Jamie, seeing her felt as if the sun had finally come out again in the grey that had taken over his life. 

“Are you hungry?” Mary asked, getting off the Vespa and removing her helmet. “Because I am starvin’.”

“Aye, I’m a bit famished too,” he answered distractedly as he got off in turn and put both helmets away. He reluctantly took his eyes off the curly head to do so, and when he looked up again, she had disappeared. 

“I tried this little restaurant the last time I came here, and it was so delicious,” Mary smiled softly, reminiscing. “Willie…he loved it too.”

Jamie couldn’t help but smile at that. Italian food had been his brother’s passion for as long as he could remember. “Of course he did.”

“I miss him so much,” she said in a quiet voice, looking up at Jamie. 

Mary had been a childhood friend. A sister to him, even. She had also been Willie’s wife. She was the only other person who knew what it felt like to lose him _— what it felt like to have to live without him._

“I miss him too,” Jamie wrapped her in his arms and held her close. Stroking her back, his eyes were glued to the spot where he had seen the woman. She must have been a vision, after all. 

“Come on,” she patted his arm and wiped away a tear. “He wanted me to make you taste the _caccio e pepe._ ” 

“I dinna like it,” Jamie felt himself make a face as he followed her to the little restaurant. “Ye ken I’m no’ as adventurous as he was when it came to food.” 

“It’s just cheese and pepper,” she grinned, leading him inside. 

Jamie chuckled and shook his head. He then looked around and was struck at how tiny the place was. There were only seven or eight tables, with only two occupied, and a wall full of bottles of various wines. From a single glance, he could recognize a few vintage ones and he made a mental note to congratulate the owner about having such good taste. If he only judged on the bottles, he was sure the food was probably going to be sensational. 

_“Ciao!”_

A girl walked over to them, smiling broadly. “Benvenuti al _l’Osteria.”_

“Ciao,” Mary smiled in turn. “We’d like a table for two. For lunch, please.” 

“Of course! Follow me.” She switched to English with a thick accent and led them to one of the tables near the bay window. “I’m Giulia, and I’ll be your waitress today.”

Jamie and Mary sat down while Giulia poured them some water. 

The waitress looked at Mary with a sense of familiarity. “You’ve been here before, _si_?” 

“I have,” she nodded, smiling. “Still no menu?”

“Never a menu,” she winked at them, “but I can get you something else to drink if you’d like something other than water.”

“Do ye have a Lambrusco?” Jamie asked, looking at her. 

“Si! We have one from 2013 that is just,” she paused, kissing her fingers. “Perfect to go for what’s for lunch.” 

“And what is for lunch?” he asked, trying to smell the faintest scents. 

“The starter is _Caprese_ salad with in-house mozzarella, tomatoes, and basil. Then, marinated _Agnello_ — lamb chops, with smoked fennel and a vinaigrette. For dessert, panna cotta di Carlotta.” 

“Who’s Carlotta?” Mary asked, intrigued. 

“The lady who opened this place in 1950, Signora Carlotta Milucci.” Giulia smiled as she looked for the bottle they had asked for. Once found, she opened it and poured them both a drink. 

Jamie swirled his glass and attentively looked at the colour in the glass. He smelled the top of the glass before taking a long sip. Eyes closed, the taste exploded in his mouth and he smiled. It was a very good Lambrusco. 

“Delicious.”

“Miss Carlotta’s granddaughter, the chef, only allows the best ingredients here, _signore_. Whether it’s the vegetables that are grown on the family estate, or the various wines she selects herself. Everything is carefully chosen by her and is all local.”

“Well, having a restaurant in Tuscany is the perfect place for wines,” Mary grinned, winking at Jamie. “My brother-in-law here is the owner of a winery nearby. It’s not in production yet, but it will happen very soon.” 

“When it is running, you have to bring in a bottle!” Giulia said enthusiastically. “I will go and tell the chef you two are ready to eat.” 

As she walked away and disappeared behind the kitchen’s doors, Jamie shook his head and looked at Mary. “We dinna even ken how to proceed, and ye’re already selling the wine?”

“Of course,” she grinned, raising her glass. “Ye will have a great product, but that is no’ going to be enough. So the more people that know about it, the easier it will be. While ye make sure we have the best wine possible, I’ll make sure the business side of things goes smoothly.”

“Thank ye, Mary,” he smiled, taking her hand. “I dinna ken what I’d do wi’out ye.” 

Mary simply smiled in return and squeezed his hand. They both knew they had to make the business a success. Not only for them but also to honour Willie’s memory. It would not be easy, but they didn’t care. They were determined, and determination was worth more than all the money in the world. 

It only took a few minutes for starters to appear on the table. Shades of white, green, and red coloured the plate like a painting. Olive oil finished the masterpiece in a sharp and carefully-placed drizzle. The ingredients were so fresh that their smell immediately hit Jamie’s nostrils. 

_“Buon appetito,_ ” Giulia winked and disappeared again. 

“I am famished!” Mary stated, picking up her fork. 

“I almost dinna want to start and ruin that plate,” he looked at her and chuckled. “‘Tis no’ a salad ye get at an Italian restaurant in Edinburgh.” 

“No, I reckon it’s not,” she chuckled and started to eat. “Oh my Lord!”

“ _That_ good?” he asked, picking up his fork. He’d be lying if the plate in front of him didn’t make his mouth water. 

“Just eat the damn thing!” 

“Aye, aye,” he smirked and finally took a bite, the food blowing his mind on the same occasion. All of his senses were awoken at once, while a party was happening in his palette. Jamie had not grown up in Italy, but if he had to think up the taste of an Italian childhood, it would taste exactly like this. 

“I’m— ” he paused, “Christ.”

“I told ye!” Mary took another bite and then a sip of wine. “Fuckin’ delicious.” 

Fucking delicious was not an overstatement, but neither Jamie nor Mary could find the words to explain what the food tasted like. It wasn’t only the Caprese salad, either. The lamb chops were phenomenal, and the panna cotta was a dream. It was very tempting to lick the plates at the end of each course.

“Is this place a Michelin restaurant?” Jamie asked, looking around. 

Giulia had brought them both espressos, on the house, along with biscottis. They were now enjoying them while reviewing their magnificent lunch. 

“Not that I’m aware, but it should be,” Mary nodded, eating a biscotti. 

“I feel like a wee lad,” he admitted, taking a sip of his coffee. “Like it was when we discovered Mrs Baird’s scones for the first time.”

“Now those I’ll miss about Scotland,” Mary sighed. “But I understand what ye mean wi’ that. Do ye think we can talk to the chef? I very much want to congratulate her on the food.” 

“Dinna move,” Jamie got up and walked towards the bar, where Giulia was cleaning some glasses. “Excuse me?”

“Si?” She turned around and looked up at him with a smile. She was a tiny thing next to the broad Scot. 

“Do ye ken if we can talk to the chef? Is she still here?” 

“Oh! Of course,” she nodded, smiling. “Service is finished, I’ll go and get her, signore.” 

“Thank ye,” he smiled in return and went back to the table. 

“So?” Mary looked at him, eagerly waiting. 

“She’ll go and fetch her.” Jamie took a bite of biscotti and smiled. For the first time in a long while, he realised he felt blissful. _Simply content._ He didn’t know that good food could do such a thing to one’s soul, and yet, here he was. 

The kitchen doors swung open, Giulia coming out first and closely followed by the chef. The sight of her made Jamie almost choke on his biscotti. 

_The curly head._

She looked exactly like he had seen her on the piazza, except she was wearing an apron over her dress and her curls were messily pinned back. As she approached, he noticed her cane and how she was walking towards them. 

“Hello,” she greeted, stopping at their table. Her face was illuminated with a bright and friendly smile. “Giulia just told me some Scots wanted to see me?”

Mary got up and smiled. “Well, we just wanted to tell ye that the food was delicious!”

“Oh, thank you very much,” she said gratefully, looking at Mary before turning towards Jamie, who was still sitting. She had a thick and very posh English accent, there was no way she was Italian. 

“Did you enjoy the food too?” she asked Jamie, the question pulling him out of his stare and making him blink a few times. 

“Oh Christ, aye. Aye, I did.” He got up at once, smiling like an idiot. “Best carpese I ever had!”

“It’s Caprese,” she grinned, looking at him. “But thank you, I’m glad you enjoyed the food.” 

“I’m Mary Fraser, and this is Jamie. We just moved here a few days ago,” Mary introduced them, holding out her hand to the chef. 

“I’m Claire Beauchamp.” She shook Mary’s hand, still smiling. “Nice to meet you, and welcome to San Gimignano.” 

“Ye’re English,” Jamie heard himself say and immediately regretted it. 

“Half-English, actually. But yes, the accent stuck from boarding school, I’m afraid,” Claire looked at him, her eyes piercing. They were the colour of whisky, with a hint of gold in them. He’d gladly get drunk on them. 

“Oh, I see,” he smiled, feeling the heat creep up in his cheeks. 

“We’re no’ going to keep you any longer,” Mary stepped in. “We’ll surely be back to eat here very soon!”

“I do hope so,” Claire smiled, touching her arm in a friendly gesture. She looked at Jamie, then, their eyes locking, “Thank you again for coming.”

James watched as she walked slowly back towards the kitchen. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know what to say. He’d gladly just stay here and watch her. 

Mary stood next to him, grinning, “Are ye alright there, lad?” 

“Ye ken how I said I wasna sure I’d like it here, after all?”

She nodded, looking at him. “Something tells me you might have just changed your mind about that.”

“Aye, I have,” his eyes followed the curly head and he swallowed. 


	2. Encounters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the lovely response on the first chapter, guys! I’m so excited to share more of this story with y’all and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I am writing it.

For as long as she could remember, Claire had been an early riser. There was nothing she loved more than watching the sunrise with a cup of coffee in her hands. Of course, it helped that she was living in Italy and had a bedroom with French windows, perfectly framed for such an occurrence. 

So every morning, she sat in bed, resting against the headboard and warming her fingers against the porcelain of her mug. She watched as the sun rose over the garden and the accompanying light began to flood her room. Most days, she’d spend that time thinking about what she would cook at the restaurant later, what vegetables she’d get from the market, or what dessert she’d whip up. 

Today, she couldn’t think of anything but the red-haired Scot she met yesterday. Before seeing him at the restaurant, she had noticed him on the piazza. He had not been alone then, either. 

Claire couldn’t help but wonder who that other woman was. _A sister? A wife?_

“Not really any of your business,” she mumbled to herself before taking a sip of coffee. 

Quickly, she cast a look at the clock and decided it was time to get up, considering she had to pick up some things from the garden before heading to the restaurant. She finished her coffee and rose slowly, grabbing her cane by the bed. Like every other morning, her leg was bothering her but she pushed through and made her way to the bathroom. 

After a shower and some meticulously applied SPF later, she was dressed and ready for the day as she made her way to the kitchen. 

“ _Buongiorno, amore_ ,” her grandmother said cheerfully upon seeing Claire. 

Carlotta was in her early seventies with the energy of a twenty-year-old. She had immaculate white hair, always pulled back in a bun, as well as piercing green eyes and tanned skin that didn’t seem to know sun damage. As for her beauty, she had passed it down to her granddaughter. And like any respectable Italian widow, she always dressed in black since her husband’s passing, no matter how many years it had been now. 

“Good morning, _nonna_ ,” Claire smiled and kissed her cheek. “Slept well?”

“Oh yes,” she smiled, sipping on her coffee. “You too?”

Claire nodded, leaning against the counter to eat a biscuit. “I dreamt about some cannoli, so I have no choice but to make some later.” 

“As long as you bring some home,” Carlotta smirked and got up to wash her cup. 

Claire had been living here for the past thirteen years. Previously, she had only visited her grandparents during holidays and always with her parents. But after a few rebellious years at boarding school and her accident, she moved to Italy permanently to take over the family restaurant. 

_She never regretted that choice._

“Of course I’ll bring some home,” she winked. “I need to grab some things from the garden before I head to the restaurant. I don’t know what I’ll be cooking yet.” 

“I’m sure you will figure it out, _amore_.” Her grandmother kissed her cheek and patted her back. “Do you need any help to gather them?”

“No, I’ll take the basket and I’ll be fine. Why do you think I wake up so early every day?” She grinned. “I know I take an eternity to walk around.” 

“Well, you still walk faster than me, so that’s something.” Carlotta winked and left the kitchen, heading towards the library

Claire chuckled while shaking her head. She had grown used to being a slow limping creature now — in fact, she was even emotionally attached to her cane.  
  
Grabbing the basket, she made her way out to the garden and started to walk the path slowly and carefully. Her eyes scanned the various vegetables that grew here, and her brain started to think about potential recipes. It was her favourite part of the day. 

She could hear the crickets chirping, and the sun was already heating up, even if it was barely eight o’clock. But it was the middle of July, and the days were growing hotter and hotter. The estate was as expansive as the winery located next to it, so it always took Claire a while to make her way around the garden. But she didn’t mind. _A walk always cleared her mind._

A mind that couldn’t seem to stop wondering what the Scot was doing. 

_His name was Jamie, apparently._

She paused to gather some sage and a few zucchinis. She decided she’d fry them in oil and add some sea salt to make a few snacks, and she couldn’t help but smile at the thought of them. As a main dish, she’d make some pasta today, but she simply needed to decide what kind. 

Her mind toyed between _cacio e pepe_ or some simple _tagliatelle al ragù_. To decide, she’d wait to see what Pierro, her provider, would be bringing later to the restaurant. Some days he had meat, others it was fish. Sometimes, he simply brought in cheese and some vegetables and fruits she didn’t grow in the garden.

Pierro’s family had been working with hers since her grandparents opened the restaurant in 1950. He was somewhere around her age and very Italian, which meant he was always trying to flirt with her — _or any other woman, really_ — whenever he had the chance. It was very amusing, though not quite flattering since it didn’t make her feel special. 

Claire picked up some oranges to add to her basket with the idea to make a _carpaccio_ with them. _Her favourite dish_. Some thinly sliced pieces, some red wine vinegar, olive oil, salt and pepper. _A lot of pepper._

The vivid colour reminded her of the Scot’s hair — though, it wasn’t exactly the same shade. It didn’t take long for her to start wondering about him again. 

_Why did he move here, of all places?_ Italy wasn’t exactly similar to Scotland. _Or maybe that’s exactly why he did it?_

“Stop it, for God’s sake.” She rolled her eyes, putting another orange in her basket. 

“Why are you talking to yourself?” the little voice came from behind her, the accent thick and the English usage unsure. 

Claire couldn’t help but smile as she turned around. “Don’t mind me. I was just thinking out loud, Marcello.” 

“Oh,” the little boy frowned, clearly confused. “Why?” 

“Just trying to come up with some recipes for the restaurant,” she lied, watching him. There was no point trying to explain to an eight-year-old that she was thinking about a man she had met for only five minutes and that she couldn’t stop wondering about him. 

“And what are you going to be cooking?!” Marcello walked over to her and peered into the basket. 

“I’m not sure yet, I’ve only got some vague ideas right now,” she smiled, picking up a peach from her basket.

“Here, have this,” she handed it to him. 

“ _Grazie_!” He smiled widely and took it. “I already had breakfast, but I love peaches.”

“I know you do.” She sat on the bench and put her basket next to her. She rubbed her leg slowly while Marcello ate his peach happily. 

The little boy lived with his parents a few minutes away, but he always loved to sneak in the garden to watch the fish in the nearby lake. So, whenever he didn’t have school, he’d come down and do just that. 

Some mornings, like today, he’d also meet up with Claire and make the walk with her while she chose the ingredients of the day from her garden. Then, he’d spend his morning at the restaurant watching her cook. 

“How’s the peach?”

“ _Meravigliosa_!” he exclaimed happily. “How do you say it in English?” 

“‘Wonderful’ or ‘delicious’,” she smiled, watching him. Leaning back, she took a peach too and began to eat it. 

“Delish,” he giggled, sitting next to her. 

They both sat there, eating their peaches in silence for a little while. When Marcello was done, he looked up at her. “Hey?”

“What is it?” Claire looked back down at him. 

“Am I your best friend?” he asked, frowning. 

“I don’t know. Are you?” She raised her eyebrows. 

“Well, I like to think so.” He reflected, chewing on his lip.

“I don’t have many friends at school. I don’t like the people, really. But I like walking around the garden with you and seeing the fish. Also, you always make me very good food!”

Claire couldn’t help her smile as she messed his hair up, “Good food, huh?” 

“Yes, always!” 

“I guess you’re my best friend then,” she nodded, winking. 

“ _Promessa_?” He held out his hand to her. 

“Promise,” she shook his hand and the deal was sealed. 

“Are you done with the vegetables? Can we go see the fish?” 

“Yeah, I think I’m done,” Claire rose slowly, grabbing her cane and basket. 

“Do you want me to hold it?” Marcello asked, pointing to the basket. 

“No, I’m alright,” she smiled, “I’ll tell you if it gets too heavy, hm?”

“Si!” He nodded and started to run towards the lake, which consisted of a few more minutes of walking for Claire. 

“Marcello! Be careful, please.” She shook her head and started walking. She knew she couldn’t keep up with him, so she might as well not even try to. 

She walked for a moment until she bumped into a running specimen and lost her balance altogether,

“Oh!”

Thankfully, the specimen in question managed to take the fall for her, while his strong body prevented the shock. 

“Christ!” 

He looked up at her, his arms wrapped around her waist. “Sassenach —” 

***********

Jamie had been restless for most of the night. Partly because he had too much on his mind, but also because of the goddamn heat. 

To a Scottish person, the sun and high temperatures were some sorts of mystical concepts. He was aware of them, but he never really had confirmation of their existence. At least, not until coming here. A summer in Scotland had meant that, at best, it stopped raining for a week. 

Nothing could have prepared him for the Tuscan heat of mid-July. Nothing at all. 

Jamie tossed and turned, pushing the cotton sheet away from his body — but he didn’t like to sleep uncovered. A childhood fear that had never passed. He had opened the windows, which made things worse. He made a mental note to buy a fan as soon as he could. 

Sometime around 7, he decided to fight his exhaustion and get up for the day. There was no use to staying in bed and cursing the heat. Plus, if he wanted to go on a run, he had to do it in the early morning hours. After that, it’d be impossible — _and unwise_ — to do it. 

He stood under the shower for far longer than he should have, but the cold water was a welcome distraction. Not only from the heat but also from the thoughts of Claire. 

If he closed his eyes, he saw her. If he opened his eyes, she was there again. No matter what he did to change his mind — including failed attempts to think of other things — she always came back. _Over and over again._

After seeing her on the piazza, he had wondered so many things. Then, he had been afraid that he would not see her again. Maybe she was a tourist, about to leave? But no, thankfully, she was a local. 

_Half-Italian, she had said._

_Was her family from this town?_ Yes, since the restaurant belonged to them. They had to be. 

He could hear her laugh resonating on the piazza. He didn’t think he’d ever be able to forget it. He could hear her voice — _posh and sophisticated._ She sounded like someone out of an aristocratic family. _Boarding school._ He remembered her saying that, so she probably had come from wealth. 

Jamie knew he needed to return to the restaurant to talk to her again, but he didn’t think showing up not even twenty-four hours after their first meeting wouldn’t seem like a desperate attempt. 

_No, he’d wait a little._

The village wasn’t very big, so there would be a point when he’d know everyone living there; and hopefully, he’d find out a bit more about Claire. 

For now, he had to focus on the winery and the business. He couldn’t afford to have his mind flooded by thoughts of the Sassenach, however tempting a thing it was.

After his cool shower, he put on his running shorts, along with a t-shirt, and walked downstairs to grab some food before his run. 

“Mornin’,” Mary greeted as she looked at him, a cup of water in hand. 

“Are ya alright?” He frowned, immediately noticing something off. “Ye’re never tanned that much, but ye look paler than usual. Mary, have ye been crying?” 

Silently, she nodded and started to cry again. “I’m sorry, it’s just…I need to tell you something.” 

Jamie walked over to her, worried sick. “Ssh, hey, dinna fash. What is it?” 

“I’m pregnant,” she croaked out, looking down at her hands. “I went and saw my doctor before we left last week for a blood test. I had a feeling, but I needed to know. He called me last night with the results.” 

His eyes widened. “Mary…a wee bairn?” 

She looked up at him, nodding. “A bairn. Willie’s bairn,” she whispered, touching her still-flat stomach. 

Jamie didn’t know what to say. _What to do?_ Being an uncle had always been something he wished for, and he knew how much William had wanted to be a father. It was all bittersweet now. 

“Oh, Mary,” Jamie gathered his sister-in-law into his arms and held her close. “I ken ye’re afraid, but ‘tis wonderful news, aye?”

Mary nodded, holding him. “I am very happy but I’m…well, ye know.” 

“A wee bairn, ‘tis like Willie givin’ ye a sign that he’s here wi’ ye.”

Looking up, she wiped the tears off her cheeks and smiled. “Ye’re right, but Christ, I’m terrified.”

“Aye, I ken ye are, but ye’re no’ alone.” He smiled in turn, leading her to a chair to sit down. “I’ll tell ye a wee story.”

Jamie sat down next to her, holding her hand. “When we were teens and ye were no’ yet datin’ Willie, he told me all about his crush on ye.”

“Did he now?” She chuckled softly, her smile brightening. 

“Aye, as if it wasna already very obvious to me, but anyway,” he continued. “He told me he’d marry ye, and he knew he’d marry ye since the moment ye two met. Then, I recall him askin’ me to make sure ye were alright if anythin’ ever happened to him. He made me promise.” 

Mary was about to say something when Jamie added, squeezing her hand, “and I promised.” 

“I never thought I’d lose my brother so soon, and I didna like to think of something happenin’ to him, but I made a promise to him that day and I willna break it.”

“Ye’re a great man, James Fraser,” she smiled, another tear strolling down her cheek. “Willie would be so proud of ye.” 

“Dinna fash about the bairn, aye? ‘Tis no’ good and there is no’ reason to fash. Ye both will be fine.” He hugged her again. 

“Thank you,” she hugged him back, relaxing into his arms. 

“I canna wait to be an uncle,” he grinned proudly. “Ye’re feelin’ alright, aye?” 

“Yes, I feel fine. I just have some morning sickness, but that’s normal, I guess.” Mary got up and poured herself another glass of water. “It’ll pass.” 

“I’ll go on a run and then to the village to get some groceries,” he rose. “Would ye like anythin’? Some fruit, perhaps?”

“I’d love some peaches if ye find some, aye.” 

“Peaches, noted,” he smiled warmly. “Call me if ye need anythin’ else, I willna be verra long.”

“Ye’re no’ going to start worryin’ about me all the time, just leave,” she threw an almond at him. 

Jamie threw his hands in the air and grinned. He took his earpods and left the house. 

As he ran around the estate, he finally took in the sight of the vineyard. The grape plants growing all the way up the hill. As he approached it, he finally noticed the neighbouring estate. 

The house was similar to his own but slightly bigger, with ivy creeping up a part of it. As for the garden, instead of having grape plants, it consisted of different sorts of vegetables and trees. It was a lovely sight, and he wondered who lived there. 

His mind was running as fast as his legs were. The estate, the vineyard, Claire, the bairn… 

He couldn’t think nor hear himself. He was so engulfed in it all that he did not notice how far away from the estate he found himself. He also didn’t notice someone else on his path.  
  
At least, not until he bumped into her and she audibly winced. 

“Oh!’

His eyes widened as he fell back onto the grass with her. “Christ!”

It took three seconds for him to realize who was in his arms and for panic to take hold of him. 

“Sassenach —”


	3. Cravings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, guys! I'll start posting two chapters a week from now on. On Tuesday and Thursday. 
> 
> Enjoy <3

Claire blinked a few times, not quite realizing that she was laying on top of Jamie. When, in time, she actually registered the situation, she felt the heat creep up in her cheeks and the outline of two strong hands resting on her bum. 

“Uhm, good morning,” was all she could breathlessly mutter. To anyone else, she would have likely been swearing or cursing under her breath. But when it came to the Scot, she didn’t know what to say. Nor was she in a hurry to move. 

“Hello,” he smiled, relieved to not have her scream at him. Suddenly, he realized where his hands were resting and removed them just as quickly, the colour of his cheeks starting to match hers. 

“Thank you for absorbing the fall, I guess,” she said, and she couldn’t help but smile in return. She was rather aware of his sweaty body pressing against her, which did not help her crimson cheeks. 

“The least I could be doin’, aye. ‘Tis all my fault, I wasna lookin’ where I was runnin’ towards,” he apologised, his words coming out of his mouth quickly and nervously. A mouth, she noted, that was rather near her own.

Her lips started to tingle with a ferocious need to kiss him. 

_She did not indulge._

“I wasn’t expecting to be on top of you so soon, but here we are,” she heard herself say before her eyes widened, along with his. 

“I did not just say that,” she immediately added and cleared her throat. “Would you...uhm...mind helping me up?” 

“Oh aye, aye,” Jamie manoeuvred them carefully and helped her up. He swiftly picked up her cane and handed it to her. 

“Thank you,” she said as she brushed off her linen trousers and fixed her curls. Claire couldn’t bring herself to look at his eyes, too nervous to muster that simple action. 

“I didna notice I left the grounds of the vineyard, let me apologize again for almost crushin’ ye to death.” 

“Yeah you should,” she grinned, watching him. Under the morning sun, he looked even better than the first time she had seen him at the piazza. His curls were flaming red— _the most peculiar shade she had ever seen._

“I’m actually close to filing a lawsuit for trespassing and attempted murder, actually.” 

Jamie laughed at her witty response while rubbing the back of his neck. “Please don’t, ‘twasn’t my intention.” 

“Do you live at the vineyard?” she asked, pointing to the estate in inquiry. 

“Aye, just moved in a few days ago,” he nodded, glancing behind before turning back to her. 

“We’re neighbours then,” she remarked, ignoring the sudden beating of her heart. 

“Thank Christ we met yesterday, otherwise it would have been an awful first impression.” Jamie looked up at her, making her chuckle softly. 

“A terrible one, really,” she grinned, their gazes unwavering. 

Jamie’s gaze quickly travelled down her body as he returned to the task of picking up her basket and its contents. His focus hadn’t escaped her, and she couldn’t prevent the goosebumps erupting on her skin. 

“‘These look appetising,” he commented, standing up and handing her the basket.

“All grown here,” she said proudly, their hands brushing as she took the basket from him. “If you want some, don’t hesitate to come by and ask.” 

“Dinna say that to me or ye’ll see me every day at yer door,” he smiled shyly, avoiding her eyes by looking rather intently at the basket. 

Claire wouldn’t mind seeing him every day, but she didn’t tell him that. 

“Here, have this.” She picked a peach from her basket and handed it to him. 

“Och, ‘tis verra kind of ye,” he smiled gratefully as he took it. “Do ye mind if I grab another one from ye? ‘Tis for Mary. Pregnancy cravings and all.”

The ground felt as if it had just disappeared under her. She simply nodded, taking out another peach. 

“Here, and congratulations are in order, then, I guess.” The words came out of her mouth like a herculean effort. She was happy for this man and yet...the disappointment crushed her heart. 

A grin broke on his face. “Och, weel, I canna wait to be a --”

Jamie had no time to finish his thought; a scream, followed by a splash, had them both looking towards the lake. 

“Oh no,” Claire’s eyes widened, seeing Marcello’s upper body bobbing in the water. 

“Claire!” Marcello croaked loudly, fighting with the water. 

“ _Aiuto_!” 

“He can’t swim,” was all she could muster to say to Jamie as she dropped her basket and began walking towards the lake. As hard as she tried, she wasn’t fast enough and there was no way for her to jump in and rescue the little guy. 

She then saw Jamie run past her, t-shirt and shoes already removed. She stopped as soon as she reached the lake, watching helplessly as the Scot jumped into the water and swam towards the little boy. What happened next would consist of a blurry recollection of moments: Jamie reaching Marcello and swimming back to where she anxiously stood, Jamie laying Marcello onto the grass, and the two of them sighing in relief as Marcello continued coughing and crying.

“‘Tis alright lad,” Jamie said as he stroked Marcello’s hair back, smiling reassuringly. “Ye’re alright, aye? Just a wee scare.” 

Marcello looked at him, visibly upset but fine. He nodded slowly and reached up to hug Jamie tightly at the neck. 

Jamie got up on his feet, holding Marcello close. They were both soaked to the bone but fine, and that knowledge alone was a great relief to Claire. As she watched them together, her heart squeezed at the realisation of what a good father he was going to be. 

“Marcello,” Claire’s voice broke while she touched his damp cheek softly.

“ _Scusa_ , I didn’t listen to you...you always say not to go near the lake,” he sniffed, watching her apologetically. “I won’t do it again.” 

“You’re alright now, but it could have been much worse,” she stroked his cheek. “You’re lucky Jamie was here, otherwise I don’t know what I could have done to get you out.”

He nodded and looked up at Jamie. _“Grazie, signore.”_

“I’m afraid I dinna speak much Italian, lad,” he gave Claire a look of helplessness. 

“He thanks you,” she smiled tenderly. “I have to thank you too, Jamie. I truly don’t know what I would have done if you weren’t here. I don’t even want to think about it, actually.” 

“Aye, but I was here,” he reassured her while putting Marcello down. “And, the lad is fine. Just maybe a wee bit wet, but wi’ the heat, we’ll dry soon enough.” 

“Right?” He looked at the lad, messing up his damp hair. 

“I’m good,” Marcello smiled softly, looking up at him. “ _Scusa_ again.”

“Come on, I’ll bring you home,” Claire said, taking Marcello’s hand. 

Jamie picked up her basket and handed it back to her for the second time that morning. “Dinna forget yer wee provisions, Sassenach.” 

“I’ll carry it home,” Marcello took it with both hands. It was obviously a bit too heavy for him, but Claire saw how much he wanted to help, so she let him. 

Marcello looked at Jamie once more. “See you soon, signore.” 

“See ye, lad. Dinna have me rescue ye from the water again, aye? And I shall teach ye how to swim properly some time,” he winked, making the little boy laugh. 

“Si!” Marcello started to walk towards the house, knowing Claire would follow along shortly. 

“An eventful morning and it’s not even 9 a.m.,” Claire sighed, her gaze meeting Jamie’s. 

“I love an early mornin’ swim,” he admitted, his face automatically breaking into a smile. “Now that I ken there is a lake, I ken what I’ll be doin’ —”

“Don’t make me sue you for trespassing for real this time,” she grinned, starting to walk towards the villa. 

“I will be discreet, then,” he said, watching her walk away with a smile.

Claire looked over her shoulder at him and returned the smile. She had to get rid of this crush soon. 

_Immediately, actually._

“Have a good day, Jamie,” she added before continuing on. 

She heard him say “Good day to ye as well,” but she wasn’t looking at him then. 

She didn’t see the expression of utter helplessness his face had taken on, nor the way his ocean eyes were looking at her. Maybe if she had, she would have understood how Jamie felt about her. 

Claire made it home after ten good minutes, leaving her basket full of goods on the table by the entrance. 

“Who were you talking to, and why did Marcello come in here all drenched?” Her grandmother appeared suddenly, a mischievous smile on her face. 

“Our new neighbour,” she answered, sitting down. “And Marcello fell in the lake. Is he in the bathroom?”

“Yes, he's getting dry,” Carlotta walked over to her and sat down. 

“So we have a new _vicino_?” Her smile grew. “ _Tanto bello, eh?”_

“Yeah, he’s not too shabby,” Claire shrugged, leaning back. 

“Amore, you know fair well you can’t lie to save your life.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?” she chuckled, looking at her grandmother. “I said he wasn’t too shabby, and it’s true.” 

“I guess that is a compliment coming from you, yes, but still. I watched you two talk,” she nudged her, still smirking. “I can recognise a Beauchamp who has a crush when I see one.”

“Oh, can you now?” 

“Of course! I’ve been married to one for many many years,” she mused, her eyes shining with affection. “You have been looking at this man the same way your grandfather has looked at me.” 

“And you saw that all the way from the house? Are you sure your eyes are not deceiving you?” Claire joked, trying to avoid the reality of her situation. She wouldn’t say she was in love with Jamie — _she didn’t know what that felt like, anyway_ — but there was something. 

“I might be old, my dear, but I still have very good eyes.” 

“I’m afraid he has a wife, nonna,” Claire admitted, ripping the emotional bandaid for her own sake. 

“Oh,” Carlotta frowned, “He doesn’t know what he’s missing then.” 

Claire laughed, shaking her head, “You are impossible.” 

“What can I tell you? Men are stupid, it is a fact of life, _Stellina_.” 

“I’m thirty years old, when are you going to stop calling me your little star?” Claire made a face, looking back at her grandmother.

“Never,” she said firmly. “You’ll be my _stellina_ until the day I die, and even after that.” 

Smiling, she rested her curly head on her shoulder. “I love you, nonna.” 

“I love you too,” she squeezed Claire’s hand before kissing her palm. 

“How did you know that Grandpa was the one?” Claire asked softly. 

It had been ten years since his passing, and yet she knew the wound was still fresh for her grandmother. She wasn’t quite sure the wound would ever heal, really. 

“As much as my memory is fading, there is one thing I will never forget, and that’s the first time I saw your grandfather.” Her eyes gave away a twinkle only present whenever talk of David Beauchamp arose. 

“The way he stood in his army uniform, how he was looking straight at me from the other side of the piazza. I remember I was reading some book, and I just felt two eyes on me. When I looked up, there he was. I couldn’t have done anything about the way I fell for him then and there.” 

“ _Colpo di fulmine,_ ” she finished softly, closing her eyes to grasp that image again. 

“Love at first sight, huh?” Claire watched her, forever amazed at the love her grandparents had shared. She wasn’t much of a romantic, but when it came to them, she felt privileged to have witnessed two people sharing such profound respect and deep love for so many years. 

“And the rest is history.” 

“A very beautiful one at that,” Claire kissed her grandmother’s cheek and wiped away a tear that had escaped the old woman’s eye. 

***********

“What happened to ye?!” Mary frowned as Jamie walked through the front door. 

“Weel, I saw a lake and I thought I’d get a wee swim in before the busy day,” he joked. 

The redhead was still very much drenched from his impromptu swim. However, his gained knowledge of who exactly was his neighbour was brought some unexpected giddiness to his morning.

“I only half-believe ye. Also, what’s wi’ the stupid grin on yer face?” 

“I might have been on my run when I bumped into Claire...ye ken, from the restaurant?” 

Mary nodded, crossing her arms. She couldn’t help but smirk at his state. “Of course I ken who that is.”

“Anyway, we were talkin’ when a wee lad fell into the lake on her estate — oh, I also found out she lives next door. Anyway, since she couldn’t get into the water, I went in myself and rescued him.” 

“Does she have a son?” she asked, leaning against the counter. 

“I dinna ken, but I dinna think ‘twas her son, no.” He thought for a moment, his brows furrowing. “Or maybe ‘twas…”

“Do ye think she’s married?” 

Jamie stopped for a moment. He had not considered this possibility. 

_At all._

He didn’t recall seeing a ring on her finger, but what if he had simply not been paying attention? The little boy, Marcello, looked nothing like her — but again, he could have taken after his father. They both seemed to be rather close to one another. Plus, her estate was even bigger than the vineyard, so it was unlikely that she was living there alone. 

“I dinna ken,” he rubbed the back of his neck. “Maybe ye’re right, aye.”

“Sorry lad, I dinna wanted to rain on yer parade. Maybe she isna!” she added quickly, seeing how distressed he suddenly seemed. 

Jamie looked at his sister-in-law and managed a smile. “Dinna fash, ‘tis no’ my business anyway. I need to get changed.” 

“I think you have a crush,” she said simply, still smirking. 

“No’ a crush, no,” he mumbled, putting the peaches on the table before walking towards the staircase. “‘Tis worse than that.”


	4. Al Mercato

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!

For the next few weeks, Jamie threw himself into work and tried not to think about his neighbour too much. 

_Easier said than done._

His mind was consumed with thoughts of her — when he closed his eyes, he could see her face. And when he fell asleep, she took over his dreams. He couldn’t stop thinking about what Mary had said about her possibly being married. He was so scared to find out if she was, he couldn’t even muster the courage to go back to the restaurant to have some lunch as a pretext to see her. 

He went on runs every morning, making sure to avoid trespassing on her estate again — but also trying to see if she was there, somewhere. Other days, he’d stand by the window of his bedroom and watch her in the garden. Most of the time, Marcello was with her. 

Mary was starting to show, and the sight brought a smile to his face, especially when thinking about how happy Willie would have been. He made a mental note to grab some things to prepare the baby’s room at some point. 

“I’m off to the market,” he told her one morning, finishing his bowl of porridge and putting the dirty dish into the sink. “Do ye need anythin?”

Mary shook her head, not taking her eyes off the papers she was reading. They were starting to hire people to work at the vineyard, and she had been reviewing the candidates since the day before. “Nay, I’ll text ye if somethin’ pops in my mind.”

“Aye, good,” he smiled, picking up the keys of the vespa. “See ye, lass.”

“See ye, lad,” she answered, smirking once he was halfway out. “Say hello to Claire for me.” 

Jamie popped back his head through the kitchen’s door, “What did ye say?” 

“I said, say hello to Claire for me.” She raised her eyebrows in question. “Why? We should really go and have some food at her restaurant sometimes, I’m startin’ to crave it.”

“We’ll go, aye,” he mumbled, putting on his helmet. 

“Ye canna deny a pregnant woman’s cravings, Jamie lad!” Mary’s grin only grew when she saw his face. She was more than aware of his little crush on the chef, and she couldn’t recall the last time she saw her brother-in-law so whipped by a woman. 

Actually, she couldn’t recall one at all. 

_Neither could he._

Jamie didn’t answer as he walked out of the house. No, he couldn’t deny her cravings, but he had to get over himself first. Acting like a nervous lad wasn’t the way to go when it came to Claire Beauchamp. Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to behave otherwise. _She disarmed him. Confused him. Thrilled him._ His head said something while his heart said another, and he was utterly lost. 

Plus, he still believed she was probably married. 

Starting the engine, Jamie made his way towards the village on the little Vespa. 

The Scot didn’t think he’d tire of the sights of Tuscany: the blue sky, the green mountains on the horizon, the fields of sunflowers. The air smelled of lavender and poppies — a peculiar smell that couldn’t be more different than Scotland. 

He had to admit that Italy was growing on him, even if he missed his homeland every day. There was something that pulled him here— something he couldn’t quite pinpoint, exactly. Nonetheless, it was there. Tangible and real. Images of a future he saw clearly. 

_Here, Jamie was home._

The sight of the piazza was slightly different than the last time Jamie had been here. Today was Wednesday which meant it was market day. The various stalls were occupying much of the space around, and more people were out than he had previously seen. The hubbub of the voices reverberated between the bricks. 

Jamie smiled at the sight. It was the second time he thought himself in the middle of a Tornatore movie since he had arrived— the other time being when he saw Claire for the very first time. 

Quickly shaking that thought away, Jamie parked the Vespa on the side and put the helmet away. He took out his shopping list and went to investigate. He was a bit at a loss as to which stall he should head towards. The colours of the various vegetables and fruits were vivid and appetising. He didn’t know anything about cooking; but in simply looking at them, he wanted to fix that issue. 

“Signore!” A man happily called from behind one of the stalls. _“Cosa posso fare per lei??”_

Jamie blinked. Clearly, he needed to work on his Italian. 

“Uhm, I’m sorry, I don’t speak italian.”

“ _Zucchini? Anguria?_ ” the man asked, pointing to a watermelon and ignoring the Scot’s struggle to understand him. It continued on for two long minutes, as the man would not stop talking and Jamie still could not understand a single word he muttered. 

“One moment please,” Jamie finally interrupted him, grabbing his phone to translate some words. 

“Pierro, stop bothering the man,” he heard a voice say behind him. 

_Her voice._

Claire appeared next to him and grinned. “Ignore him, he speaks perfect English, he’s just testing you.” 

Jamie felt the heat creep up his cheeks — which, given the already horrifically high temperature, was quite an accomplishment. 

Claire stood in front of him, in her off-the-shoulders polka-dot dress and dark curls perfectly framing her face. Her sunglasses were up on her head, leaving her eyes uncovered for him to drown in. 

“Hi,” he said quickly, smiling. 

“Hello,” she smiled in return, picking up some persimmons to put in her basket. 

“You know this _straniero_?” The man — _Pierro_ — asked her, grinning. 

“Pierro, this stranger, as you say, is Jamie, new to town,” she introduced him, still smiling at Jamie. “And Jamie, this is Pierro. He has really good produce, but a questionable sense of humour.” 

Pierro was a tall and dark man, with brown eyes and a perfectly-shaped beard. He was what women had in mind when they thought of Italian men. Handsome, charming, and very bad at flirting. 

_“Un piacere conoscerti,”_ he smirked, handing out his hand to Jamie. 

“Nice to meet you,” he quickly added in his thick accent. 

“Nice to meet ye too,” Jamie answered politely, shaking his hand. 

_“Ci vediamo dopo, bellezza,”_ Pierro winked at Claire, blowing her a kiss before he went and took care of the other customers. 

“Yeah, see you later,” she chuckled, shaking her head. She turned to Jamie and grabbed the list off his hands to take a look. 

“You could have gotten all of these from my garden, you know?” She looked up at him, a mischievous glint in her eyes. 

“I thought abou’ askin’ but then I chickened out,” he admitted, his smile returning sheepishly. 

“Am I that frightening?” She raised her eyebrows in question. He’d happily stand here and be teased by her forever if he could. 

“Nah, no’ that frightening,” his smile grew, but so did his nervousness. “But why are ye at the market if ye have so many things in yer wee garden, huh?” 

“I don’t have persimmons yet. And quite frankly, I won’t even bother trying to grow some since Pierro is doing a great job at it.” 

“I’ve never tasted one,” he admitted a bit shamefully. 

“We should rectify that,” Claire held up the persimmon in front of his mouth. “Have a bite.” 

Her red painted nails held the bright orange fruit delicately, tempting him. Taunting him. He forgot all the noise around them for a moment as he noticed her bare ring finger. Now, it didn’t mean anything, but it was a good sign. 

Slowly, Jamie leaned down and took a bite of the persimmon, while a bit of juice escaped and began travelling down his chin and her fingers. 

“‘Tis delicious,” he smiled broadly, taking the persimmon from her hand. 

“I told you,” she smirked, licking her fingers. 

That simple gesture _— which was innocent enough from her_ — had him nearly shivering with want. His lips started to tingle; something, he realised, that happened often around her.

“What are ye goin’ to make wi’ the persimmons, Sassenach?” he asked, trying to occupy his mind with some other subject.

“I haven’t decided yet,” she said, picking up some more from the stall and leaving money for Pierro. “Maybe I’ll do nothing at all and just keep them for me to snack on,” she grinned. 

“‘Tis no’ a bad plan,” he chuckled, still watching her. 

“Or I could bake them with honey to go with some ice cream. Either that, or a fresh salad, but I’d need pomegranate too,” she frowned, clearly thinking about the possibilities.

“Do ye just ken a hundred recipes that ye bring out of yer brain whenever ye need to?” He was impressed, to say the least. 

“I guess?” she chuckled softly as they started to walk slowly through the market. “I never much think about it, really. It just comes out when I need to cook. A sort of automatic response.”

Jamie picked up her basket to carry it. She simply smiled in gratitude as they walked together. “How’s everything going? Are you settling in alright?”

“Oh aye,” he nodded, smiling. He wasn't breathing properly when he was with her. “I used to remember and wonder where I was when I woke up, but now ‘tis all good. We’re slowly gettin’ used to the place and startin’ to set up the business.”

“Have you worked with wines before?” 

“My uncle has a business in Paris,” he explained as they continued walking. “I trained wi’ him when I was younger and worked at his vineyard in the south durin’ the summer when I was only a lad. Then, I studied oenology at university, so aye, ye could say I worked a bit in the business.” 

“Sounds like it’s more than a little bit,” she nudged him a bit, smiling. 

“Ouch, weel…”

“I insist on tasting your wine when you have the first bottle ready, by the way.” 

“Would ye? Really?” He looked at her, not doing a great job of hiding his surprise. 

“Of course! I always want to find new bottles to bring to the restaurant, and the more local, the better. If the wine is good, obviously,” she grinned teasingly. 

“The pressure just went up,” he winked — something he still wasn’t very good at. 

“Are you alright? Did you just wink at me or was it a spasm?” Biting her lip, she tried not to laugh at the sight that she found secretly very cute. 

“Are ye makin’ fun of my bad winking? ‘Tis no’ verra nice, Sassenach.” Jamie stopped walking and pouted. 

Claire stopped as well and burst into laughter — the sounds serving as a lullaby to him. “I’m sorry, I just never saw anyone blink like that. It’s actually very sweet, and it makes you unique.”

“Unique, aye. I can live wi’ that,” his grin broadened. He’d take any compliment from her. 

“It’s good to be unique,” she smiled. “In my opinion, at least.” 

“Och, but ye’re right!”

“Can I ask you something?” She watched him and he suddenly panicked. What would she ask him?

“Aye, ‘course,” he nodded, waiting for the question. 

“What does Sassenach mean? You keep calling me that —”

“Oh nothin’ bad, I swear!” he quickly said, suddenly afraid to have offended her. To be fair, he didn’t know why he started to call her that as soon as they met. He had heard the term once, as a lad, and barely remembered it until that fateful day. 

“‘Tis only means Englishwoman or stranger in a strange land. I dinna mean to offend ye.” 

“I was just curious, that’s all,” she answered, touching his arm in reassurance. “I’m not offended at all! I actually like the sound of it, and nobody, except my grandmother, gives me nicknames, so.”

“Yer grandmother, huh?” he grinned. “And what are those nicknames, Sassenach?”

“Ah, you’ll never know them,” she patted his shoulder. “I’ll be Sassenach to you, and that will be all.”

In fact, she was mistaken. He already had a plethora of nicknames to give her but he simply couldn't’ tell her that. At least, not just yet. 

“Sassenach ‘tis then,” Jamie felt suddenly very bold and took her hand in his. Slowly, he brought it to his lips and delicately stamped her sun-kissed skin. 

The Scot noticed how flustered the gesture made her, and for the first time since their initial meeting, he finally had hoped the attraction he was feeling for her was mutual. At least, until she took her hand carefully away and cleared her throat — breaking the spell. Something passed through her eyes, but it was too quick for him to grasp it. 

“How long have ye been livin’ here?” The question escaped him before he had the time to notice his brain even forming it. It seemed that every time he felt Claire pulling away from him, he found a way to keep her near.

“Three years officially,” she smiled again, “But I lived on and off here for a while before making the move permanently.”

“Is it part of yer long story?” His eyebrow flicked up in question as his lip did into a smile. 

“Sort of, yes,” she shrugged, the smile not quite leaving her mouth but not reaching her eyes either. 

Jamie noticed how melancholy floated into the whisky, but he didn’t say anything. He wanted to know, but he wouldn’t ask unless she was willing to tell him. 

“Will ye tell me, one day?” He didn’t recognize his voice then either. It was almost a whisper, and he wondered how she heard it at all given the noise around them. 

“If you have some time to sit and listen to my ramblings, sure.” 

“Anytime, aye,” he smiled shyly. “If ye add some honey-baked persimmons and an espresso to it, I wouldna complain.” Jamie added, seeing amusement coming back to her face.   
  
“Are you trying to get free food out of me?” 

“Maybe.” It was his turn to be mischievous now and, much to his surprise, it seemed to be working. 

_“Sei un ladro,”_ she grinned and took her basket from his hand before starting to walk towards the restaurant. 

Jamie melted at her voice and the way Italian rolled off her tongue so naturally. 

“Which means?” he asked loudly, standing between the crowds and watching her helplessly. 

“It means you’re a thief. It also means that you need Italian lessons to understand what people say to you!”

“Will ye give me some, then?!” 

“I’ll think about it, straniero.” Winking, Claire disappeared behind the wooden door of the restaurant and Jamie stood there, smiling like an idiot.


	5. Nonna Knows Best

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, guys!

A few days later, Claire stood in her kitchen, her hands working the pizza dough into oblivion. She felt it squish under her flour-covered fingers, noticing it was finally reaching the right consistency — not too wet, a bit tacky, but perfectly smooth. 

Just like her grandmother had taught her, she lifted the round-shaped dough and threw it onto the marble a couple of times, the noise reverberating throughout the room. It always worked wonders in soothing her nerves. 

“What did that poor dough ever do to you?” her grandmother asked, leaning against the door frame.  
  
Claire glanced up at her, her mind still engulfed by her cooking trance. “What?”

“I know I taught you to do this, but you don’t have to try your best to destroy the table,” Carlotta smirked and walked over to her. 

“Oh,” she looked down at her dough and shrugged. “I didn’t notice I was doing it like that.” 

“You are cooking here for once and you are this mean to your dough…Do I have to worry about something, _stellina_?” she frowned, touching Claire’s arm. 

“To worry about me? Of course not,” Claire brushed off her grandmother’s concern and applied some flour on top of her dough before covering it.

“What is bothering you?” 

“Nothing is bothering me, _nonna_.” Claire went to the sink washed her hands thoroughly before turning her head to look at the older woman. 

“ _Really_ ,” Claire added, sensing her scepticism. 

“You are exactly like your grandfather,” Carlotta chuckled, walking over to her.“He couldn’t lie to save his life, and his face read like an open book. A glass face, I used to call it.” 

“No, I think you’re just trying to press me until I crack and tell you what is up —”

“Ah! So something is up.” Carlotta leaned against the counter, her smirk growing. _“Lo sapevo!”_

“Nonna!” Claire sighed, exasperated. It wasn’t funny how well her grandmother knew her, actually. Not funny at all. 

“Come on. _Che cosa succede?_ ” Carlotta came closer, cupping her granddaughter’s cheek tenderly. 

Before Claire had time to cook up a little lie, her grandmother proceeded, “Is it lo scozzese?” 

_The Scot._

Of course, it was the Scot, but she couldn’t tell her that. 

“Jamie?” Claire frowned, “No, of course not. Why would it be Jamie? I barely know or see the guy. Don’t be ridiculous, Grandma.”

“ _Madonna_.” Carlotta looked up at the ceiling as if she was directly looking at the sky and proceeded to do the sign of the cross, along with reciting a prayer — something she often did when she was exasperated and needed some strength. 

“Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp! You really are an even worse liar than your grandfather.” Walking over to the table, Carlotta pulled out a chair and gestured for Claire to sit down.  
  
No matter how old she was _— might it be five or, in this case, thirty_ — when her grandmother wanted to be dramatic and make a speech, she would. Today was no different. 

Claire couldn’t help but grin as she sat down. “I don’t know what you are talking about, really!”

The older lady sat down in turn and looked at her granddaughter. “If you have a crush, which we previously agreed that you have —” she held up her hand before Claire could protest, “why don’t you do anything about it, huh?” 

“Because I don’t have a crush, no matter what you think. And secondly, he’s most likely married…” Claire let her sentence die before she added something else. 

An affair with a married man was part of her past, but her grandmother didn’t need to know about it. Claire tried to forget about it hard enough. 

Her heart didn’t need a reminder, either. She had been a young and foolish girl in love. She had sworn to herself that it wouldn’t happen again. 

“Are you sure he is married?” Her grandmother’s eyebrows rose in question. 

“Everything points to it,” she mumbled, getting up with her cane. Slowly, she walked towards the fridge and took out some _estathé_ , her favourite drink since she was a child vacationing in Italy. 

“You are not even sure?!” Carlotta rolled her eyes and looked back at her. 

“Maybe I just don’t want to find out. Happy now?” she asked, leaning against the counter. 

_“Oh Dio,”_ the older woman said softly, getting up. Back on her two feet, her eyes widened at once. 

“So, it is more than just a crush…”

Claire didn’t answer _. She didn’t need to._ Either she’d think up another lie her grandmother would pick up immediately, or she’d start to pour out all the things thinking about Jamie Fraser made her feel. She didn’t think either were good options. 

_Plus, she wasn’t even sure what her feelings meant, anyway._

“You can’t keep your heart locked away forever, Claire.” Her grandmother walked towards her and cupped her cheeks. “It works for a little while, but it’s not sustainable. No matter how much it hurts, a heart is meant to be broken from time to time. You know why?”

Claire shook her head of curls and rested it on her shoulder. 

“Because when it’s mended by the right person, there is no better feeling in the world.” Carlotta stroked her curls back and smiled. 

“When I met your grandfather, he was actually engaged to someone else in England.” 

“Really?” Claire frowned and looked up. “I never knew that.”

“He was, and for a moment, I really thought he was going to go back to her whenever the War would end. That’s all I ever thought about from the moment he told me.” 

“But nothing had happened between you two, had it?”

“Well, actually…” Carlotta couldn’t prevent her smile at the memories. “It was the War, we didn’t know if we’d ever make it out alive, or when it would end, so yes…some things did happen. It was just simply very clear to both of us that when the war would end, he’d leave and I’d stay here.” 

“But then he stayed.” 

It was Claire’s turn to smile now. As a child, her favourite bedtime story was her grandparents’ love story. Lovingly recalled by David Beauchamp, with some added sound effects and various voices for dramatic purposes. 

“He stayed,” Carlotta nodded, smiling. “When I finally tricked myself into believing he’d be gone one day, the war ended and your grandfather asked me to marry him.”

“I know, but it’s not the same situation as mine at all,” Claire rationalised. 

“No, it’s not, but that’s not my point here, _stellina_. My point,” Carlotta paused, stroking Claire’s cheek slowly, “is that when two people are meant to be together, they’ll end up together. You can’t go against fate — at least not for very long.” 

“Yes, but this isn’t the same thing. There isn’t a war going on, there isn’t an unknown person far away, waiting for him to get home. She’s right here, and he is with her because he wants to be with her. There’s nothing I can do about it if that’s really the case.” Claire broke away from her grandmother’s grip and leaned back. 

“You used to be far more adventurous, _bambolina_.” 

“I used to be far more reckless, and you didn’t like it, if I recall correctly,” Claire smiled, nudging her. 

“No, you’re right, I hated it,” Carlotta chuckled. “But this isn’t the same thing, so please listen to your gut and don’t let this pass you by. You might regret it.” 

“I’ll think about it,” she said as her smile softened. “For now, I have to go to the restaurant because it’s booked up for lunch and I have some prep to do.” 

“Are you bringing the dough with you?”

“No, that’s for tonight,” she grinned. “Someone asked me for pizza, so I aim to please.” 

“This is why you are my favourite grandchild,” Carlotta grinned in return and grabbed an orange on her way out of the kitchen. 

“I’m your only grandchild, but thank you for the compliment,” Claire laughed and followed her into the hallway. 

“Anytime.” Carlotta kissed her cheek and disappeared up the stairs. 

Claire grabbed her keys and walked out of the villa. Sometimes, it frustrated her how slow she now was and how her leg ached; but with the warm weather, the pain had somewhat lessened. It also bothered her that she couldn’t see herself without a cane now. 

Getting inside the Fiat 500, she started the engine and put on her sunglasses. Before the accident, she’d go to the village by bike — or later on, by motorcycle — but she couldn’t do that anymore. So instead, she used her grandfather’s vintage car that still worked fine enough. It was tiny and a bold shade of emerald green, and she wasn’t too sure the engine wouldn’t die on her at some point — but for now, it did the job. 

Wind blowing in her hair, she drove to the village while her thoughts ran wild. No matter what she did, everything always seemed to circle back to Jamie. It was starting to become a bit maddening, actually, but she couldn’t prevent it no matter how hard she tried. 

Her grandmother was right — Claire used to be far more adventurous. Though the word Claire would have used, as she did with her grandmother, was reckless. She used to throw caution to the wind and do whatever the fuck she wanted whenever she wanted. If she had met Jamie fifteen years ago, she would have kissed him on the spot. This recklessness still applied to some aspects of her life, but most of it had been tamed since her teenage years, coming out only from time to time. 

_It had been due to the accident and a broken heart._

Claire was cautious now. Closed down and always thinking first, doing second. It was part of growing up, she had guessed. 

She hadn’t told her grandmother that Mary was pregnant, because she couldn’t bring herself to even think about it. She had never wanted children, but all of a sudden, the idea of a woman carrying Jamie’s child bothered her to no end. She knew she had no right to feel this way, but feelings were not controllable. 

_It would be a lot easier if they were._

The Scot had moved to a new country and bought a vineyard, and he would become a father in a couple of months. She doubted that she was the prime preoccupation on his mind — or any preoccupation, actually.

_If only she knew._


	6. Primaver

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and for your lovely feedback!

Jamie’s morning run had always followed the same route; but some days, he would venture out towards the village and back to avoid looking over the neighbouring estate — where the subject of his desires resided. 

_Today wasn’t one of those days._

Jamie had been too lost in thoughts to realise where he was running to again. Without noticing it, he was back at the lake, but it was only when he saw _her_ that he stopped dead in his tracks. Goosebumps erupted all over his sweaty skin.   
  
Claire laid on a blanket by the lake, a book in her hands. Sunbathing on her belly, sunglasses up on her nose and her curls hidden under a straw hat. Her suntanned skin was perfectly smooth, shiny from the layer of SPF she had on. 

Slowly, his eyes travelled up her body, doing nothing to suppress his attraction towards his neighbour. He noticed a long scar going from her left calf up to her waist, and he wondered what had happened to her to mark her in such a way. He wondered if it had anything to do with her limping, too. 

He noticed her toned back and her slender arms. Her defined shoulders. He noted the beauty mark and her back dimples. And then, his eyes stopped on her plump arse, perfectly hugged by the white material of her bikini bottom.

Her voice shattered the glass of his observation. She didn’t seem to mind him, at all. Actually, she looked quite amused, “ _Buongiorno_.” 

“Sassenach,” he cleared his throat, blushing furiously. “Hello.”

“You know it’s not safe to run in this heat?” she asked, putting her book away. However, she didn’t move and simply grinned back at him, resting her head on her hands. 

“‘Tis no’ too hot just yet,” he remarked, looking up at the sky to remove his eyes from her body. 

“Well, it’s barely nine am and it’s already boiling.” She lifted her sunglasses and put them on her head. 

“I’m almost done and I havena collapsed yet.” It was his turn to grin now as he walked over to her. 

“You should go for a swim if you’re done.” Claire switched positions, now leaning onto her elbows to look up at him. 

At the sight of her like that, Jamie felt something twitch in his shorts, his eyes widening slightly. The sight of her in her white bikini was apparently enough to make him react like a fourteen-year-old. 

“Aye, ye’re right, I should,” he said quickly and turned around to face the lake. He removed his running shoes and t-shirt and immediately hopped into the water. If this was a way to hide his arousal, that alone was enough to make the plunge worth it. He simply prayed the mortified look of embarrassment wasn’t too visible on his face. 

The water was cool against his skin and it helped slightly. When he came up for air, Claire had moved closer to the lake, sitting on the dock with her legs submerged. Her cane was near, in case she needed it, and her sunglasses were off. 

“How is the water?” she asked, swinging her feet slowly in the water. 

“Just right for the heat,” he smiled, watching her. “Feels nice after a run.”

“Do you work out a lot?” 

“Nay,” he started to tread water. “Just a run in the mornin’, it helps me wake’ up and focus for the day.”

“Oh yeah, I have that — but with a cup of coffee,” she grinned. 

“Ah ah,” he gently splashed water at her, smirking. 

“It’s quite hard to run with a cane, you know.” 

Jamie looked at her and cursed himself silently. It seemed that putting his foot in his mouth happened way too often when he was around her. 

“I’m sorry, I dinna mean to…”

“I’m just teasing you,” she chuckled, the sound making him relax. “I never liked working out anyway, so I’m almost glad I have an excuse. I can swim, so that’s already something,” she smiled warmly. “Though I swim like a seal, since one of my legs is very stiff. It has its charms.” 

“Seals are verra charmin’” he grinned in return, swimming closer to the dock. “Care to show me?”

“Oh no,” she laughed again. “I don’t want to get my hair wet, it’s a real pain in the arse when it dries, and I end up looking like a poodle.”

“I’m sure ‘tis no’ the truth,” he said as he began floating on his back. 

Claire leaned on her side and rested her head in her palm, her fingers in her hair. She watched him swim, a tender smile on her face. “Your nose is getting a bit red, Jamie.” 

“I havena put any sunscreen on,” he admitted, feeling the warmth of his skin. 

“Well, you should start. Trust a pale English person like me, you’ll need it! I think my skin is a bit used to it because I have some Italian blood. As for yours, I’m afraid the Scottish roots won’t budge.” 

“Nay, I’m afraid they willna,” he chuckled. “I promise I’ll put on sunscreen from now on.” 

“I have some in my basket if you want?” She pointed towards the plaid, where her basket and book were laying. 

“Dinna move,” he smiled and made his way out of the water and towards her belongings. 

By the time he reached the deck and sat next to her, the droplets of water on his skin had already dried up. He handed the bottle to Claire, who had sat up properly again and was waiting for him. 

She poured some between her palms and rubbed them together. “Turn a bit, please.” 

Jamie did as he was told and braced himself for her touch — reciting a silent prayer. 

Slowly, she started to rub his shoulders with her SPF-covered hands, going down his arms too. Then, he felt the heat of her hands off his skin and realised she was getting more cream. A second later, her hands were rubbing his back gently, making sure the entire surface was covered. He knew it was pointless to hide the goosebumps; he simply hoped she didn’t notice too much.

“Now, your nose needs some.” He could sense her smile as she, grabbed some more SPF.

Jamie turned around to face her. He couldn’t help but smile at the sight of her, so close to him. He realised how she smelled of patchouli and vanilla, mixed together to make the perfect scent of her. 

Claire simply smiled back, the crickets the only noise around them. She gently rubbed the tip of his nose, careful since it was already red. Jamie closed his eyes and melted against her touch, ignoring the tingle of his sun-damaged skin. 

He had wished for this to go on forever, but it ended way too soon. 

“Here you go,” she smiled and put the bottle away. 

“Thank ye, Sassenach, truly.” 

“ _Prego_.” She watched him for a little while, as if she wanted to give him a kiss but somehow refrained at the last second. 

“What does that mean?” Jamie frowned, ignoring his own need to kiss her. 

“It means you’re welcome,” she explained and turned her head to look at the lake. Their hands were close by, both pinkies brushing against one another. 

“Do you miss Scotland?” 

Her sudden question startled him, and he had to admit he had not been thinking much about Scotland since he came here. 

“Less and less,” he looked at her, smiling softly. “I feel verra good here.” 

“Yeah, this place tends to do that to one’s soul.” She looked at him and smiled back. Then, their eyes met and locked. For a long moment, they simply looked at one another, shy smiles and fingers touching on the deck. 

Jamie realised how close they were from one another and noticed how Claire’s face started to lean up towards his. Instinctively, he licked his lips, feeling faint at what was going to happen to him. 

Suddenly, something flashed in her eyes and she stopped at once. Clearing her throat, Claire pulled back. 

“I think I’ll have a swim, after all.” 

Jamie blinked and saw her remove her hat before slipping inside the water quickly. He couldn’t believe he was daft enough to think she would kiss him. 

_He didn’t know she badly wanted to._

“Have ye ever been to Scotland, Sassenach?” he asked, trying to tame the sudden rush of awkwardness that had come between them. 

“Once, I went to Edinburgh with my grandparents. I must have been around ten, I believe,” she said, standing in the water. 

“And did ye like it?” 

“I did,” she smiled, walking around slowly. The water helped with her balance, and she didn’t seem to need to hold on to anything. 

“It was a lovely city, and the museums were really nice.” 

“Do ye like to visit museums, then?” 

She nodded, lowering her body into the water. “I do, which is why living thirty odd minutes away from Florence is a great luxury.”

“I havena been to Florence just yet,” he admitted as he plunged back into the water. It was cool against his heated skin. 

“You have to rectify this,” she teased, watching him. “Not only because of the Uffizi, but also because there’s a little bakery near that museum that makes the best sandwiches. It’s called _schiacciata_.” 

“Schiacciata,” Jamie repeated, butchering the word. “The word alone sounds good to me.”

“Wait until you taste it,” she grinned and disappeared under the crystal clear water. 

The Scot watched as she swam underwater, moving both her legs together. Her hair floated seamlessly like a dark mass around her head and her skin glowed. She looked like a mermaid. 

For what seemed like an eternity, Jamie stood there, simply mesmerized by her and how she moved in the water. Then, she came up for air, running her hands over her head to keep her wet hair away from her face. 

“Ye dinna look like a poodle,” he remarked, swimming over to her. 

“Wait until it dries,” she chuckled softly, looking at him. 

“Are ye goin’ to Florence soon?” 

“I don’t usually plan my trips. I usually wake up in the morning and decide I need a trip to the museum and a schiacciata.” 

“Ye’re the spontaneous type, eh?” 

Claire shrugged, leaning back into the water. “I used to be far more spontaneous.”

“What happened?” 

He regretted asking the question as soon as it came out of his mouth, noticing how Claire’s eyes seemed to release the sadness hidden in them. 

“I grew up,” she said plainly, a layer of secrets hidden in her answer, and went underwater again. 

Jamie quickly followed her and opened his eyes slowly. He couldn’t see very well, but he saw her. Swimming around him, her eyes opened too. She smiled then, before swimming away. _Daring him to catch her._ Claire had far more endurance underwater than he had; she swam quickly, too. 

Then, he saw her come up for air and did the same once he reached her. They stood in the water, facing one another as droplets dripped from their hair onto their sun-soaked bodies.

“Ye swim verra fast, Sassenach.” 

She shrugged and smirked. “I should live underwater. I’d do things much faster, and my leg wouldn’t ache.” 

“Does it ache all the time?” he asked softly, stroking a stray curl away from her damp face. 

“Sometimes. It depends. When it aches, I just massage it and that helps.” 

Jamie found something rather erotic in imagining massaging her leg. He felt his hands tingle at the thought of it, even. He could see the smooth skin under his fingers, goosebumps erupting on them as he gently soothed her ache. 

He wanted to ask her what had happened. _He wanted to kiss the pain away._ But all he could do was wait for her to invite him into her world. 

_And pray that she would._

“Don’t look so worried,” she smiled reassuringly, touching his arm. “I’m used to it, you know?”

“I just dinna like the idea of ye bein’ in pain, Sassenach.” 

“One can’t go through life without pain,” she quoted, still smiling. “My grandfather always said that to me.”

“Wise lad, yer grandpa,” his lip flicked up. 

“The wisest.” Her smile grew at the memory of him. “He would have liked you, I think. My grandmother sure will.” 

“I’d love to meet the famous Carlotta. I still have to thank her for the delicious panna cotta I had at the restaurant. Though, ye made it, so I should thank ye too.”

“It wasn’t as good as if she had made it, trust me,” Claire said with a smile. 

“Can I ask ye somethin’ else, Sassenach? I’m verra curious.” 

“Go ahead,” she frowned slightly, watching him. 

“What’s yer favourite painting?”

“Oh,” she smiled, her features softening. 

“La Primavera by Botticelli.” 

Jamie wanted to tell her she looked exactly like a Renaissance muse. Her porcelain skin seemed to have been carved by a master in marble. Her curls cascading down her shoulders, already starting to dry with the heat; and the way her body curved could have been painted by Botticelli himself. 

_She was a masterpiece_ — it took all the willpower he had not to tell that to her on the spot. 

“What’s yours?” she asked, interrupting his thoughts. 

“The Wanderer above the Sea of Fog by Caspar Friedrich,” he said quickly, recalling seeing the painting for the first time in an art book his father kept in his office. Over the years, he often found himself thinking of it. Now, he even saw the similarities between the man in the painting and himself. 

“You look like that man,” Claire remarked. “The way you stand and carry yourself. Even down to the hair colour.”

“Aye,” he smiled, amused. “‘Tis true.” 

Silence fell, wrapping itself around them like a comforting embrace. 

Claire was looking up at him, her amber eyes glowing in the sunlight. The droplets of water completely dried from her face. It was the first time Jamie noticed the wave of freckles on her nose, wanting to kiss each and every one of them. He was getting intoxicated by her, drunk on the whisky of her eyes. 

Their bodies had moved closer _— instinctively, like magnets —_ almost touching in the water. 

He saw hesitation pass through her eyes for a brief second — _a tiny fraction of time_ — disappearing just as quickly. It was then that Claire leaned up, her hands resting on his forearms, her lips calling for his. His breath tickled her cheek, lips burning to touch hers. _To be soothed by hers._

This time, she wasn’t pulling away. This time, she was silently begging him. 

Jamie could almost taste her _— almost._

“Claire!” Marcello called happily from the shore his high-pitched voice shattering the silence and tearing them apart before they even had time to kiss.


	7. That's Amore

Recklessness had a way of seeping into Claire’s bloodstream from a very young age. 

At four years old, she jumped off the stairs of the family Oxford townhouse and broke an arm. She had barely shed a tear, actually; she loved her cast and proudly held it up to show to anyone who cared to listen about her adventure. 

At nine, she escaped boarding school for the first time. Then again, at thirteen. Then again, at fifteen. She almost did it once more at seventeen; but at that time, she realised she could sneak in the boys’ dormitory, and found that option to be much more enjoyable. 

At eighteen, she ran off to Iceland to test her newly-acquired driver’s license on a road trip, only leaving a note behind so to not worry her grandparents. She came back six months later, when she finally grew bored with her adventure. 

At twenty-five, she fell in love with a married man and carried on an affair with him for a year, butchering her heart in the process. 

At twenty-seven, she hopped onto a motorcycle only to crash into a truck. Her hospital stay had been long and exhausting. The doctors told her many times that she wouldn’t be able to walk again and would likely spend the rest of her life in a wheelchair. But again, recklessness crept up within her and made her fight to escape the goddamn thing over and over again, until she’d stop falling down and manage to use her legs again. One of them would no longer work properly due to the extensive damage, but it was better than no use at all. 

_Claire had always followed the idea to live first and think second._

A lesson acquired at a very young age, when both her parents died suddenly in a tragic car accident. She remembered the little girl she had been, realising how fragile life was. She remembered thinking she would no longer think twice when she wanted to do something, because leaving things for another day meant assuming the risk that that day would never come to pass. 

Now, at thirty, the recklessness was mostly kept at bay. Days were slower, fuelled by her passion for cooking and growing things in her garden. There was no more urgency to live — _only to enjoy living._ But since meeting Jamie, a certain spark was back. A spark that pushed her to throw caution to the wind and go for it. 

It caught her off guard that day at the lake. She was losing herself to him, not being careful enough. The kiss that had not happened would have been the match igniting the spark into a flame; but thankfully, Marcello had interrupted them just in time. The interruption had brought back some clarity to Claire’s thinking. The thought of the kiss floated in her mind unceasingly. She pushed it away, but each time, it came back more forcefully.

James Fraser was not hers to have and she knew her heart couldn’t handle another burn, however tempting playing with the fire might be. The burns on her hands were not completely healed from the last time. But something was different with Jamie. It was unlike anything she had ever felt before for a man, which made it all much more dangerous. She couldn’t get attached to a man who wasn’t free — _to a man who belonged to another._ However, she realized the attachment was already there, threatening to push her off an emotional cliff. 

Her phone rang that morning, waking her up earlier than she had wanted. She reached for her bedside table, eyes still closed, and patted the wooden surface until she found the ringing device. With a swift tap, she hung up on whoever was calling. She didn’t need to look to know _who_ it was, and it wasn’t someone she cared to talk to, anyway. 

Stirring slowly between the linen sheets, she opened her eyes and let them get accustomed to the warm glow of light flooding her bedroom. The window was open, letting in the soft morning breeze before the air turned thick from heat. It was barely eight o’clock. She smiled at the view, as she always did, and sat up slowly. 

The restaurant was closed today, which meant she had a day off; but as per usual, her days off would still be spent at the restaurant. However, she would be in a quiet kitchen, without anyone to disturb her peace as she cooked whatever she pleased and experimented with new recipes. Marcello would probably stop by to watch her cook and eat whatever she made as well. 

A soft knock came from the door, but before Claire had time to tell her grandmother to come in, the old lady had opened the door already. She walked in, smiling and carrying a tray with a cappuccino and a _bombolone_ on it. 

“Buongiorno principessa,” Carlotta winked, walking over to the canopy bed. 

“Morning, nonna,” Claire smiled, leaning up to kiss her cheek. She accepted the tray gratefully and placed it on her lap. 

“How did you sleep?” She sat on the edge of the bed, stroking some stray curls away from her granddaughter’s face. 

“Very well,” she replied and took a bite of the bombolone. Closing her eyes, she leaned against the headboard and groaned in delight, the sugar coating her lips. 

“Oh my god,” she mumbled, chewing. 

“Eh, I know,” Carlotta grinned. “I couldn’t sleep, so I thought why not get up and bake some of these for you?” 

“What time did you get up? Four?” Claire smirked and took a sip of coffee. 

“More or less, si.” Carlotta kissed her temple and rose slowly. 

Claire made a face in response. She was an early bird herself, but four a.m. was just obscene to think about. 

“Are you going to the restaurant today?” Carlotta asked, looking at her only grandchild. 

Nodding, Claire took another bite of food and chewed enthusiastically. “Do you need anything from town while I’m there?”

“Oh no,” she smiled, blowing her a kiss. “I’m going on a walk with Nino if you need me.”

“Nino, huh?” Claire smirked. 

“Basta,” Carlotta gave her a teasing look before walking out of the room. 

Claire smiled as she watched her leave — feeling a little ping at the heart, thinking about all of the times she drove her grandparents crazy. Crazy with worry about her stubbornness. Her grandfather used to joke that he got premature white hair because of her, and she had to admit it was probably the case. 

Her phone rang again, shattering the cloud of memories she had just entered. 

She reached for it and looked at it, the name flashing on it over and over again. She looked at it for a long time before pressing the red circle on the screen, turning off the device and putting it between the pillows. 

Removing the tray from her lap, she grabbed her cane and got up slowly from bed. She made her way to the balcony, coffee in hand. 

Her bedroom was on the second floor, only because she refused to sleep downstairs and she needed to get her legs used to the stairs. No matter how long it took her to reach the room, or how much it made her leg hurt, she was always determined to keep some normalcy in her day-to-day life. It drove everyone around her mad, but she didn’t care. 

This was the hardest thing about her accident. After it happened, everyone started to treat her as if she was a child. _Always asking to help._ Always making things easier, making sure she was fine. More than once, in that wheelchair, she had wanted to yell. It had taken so long to feel good again; as if she were her old self. When she finally broke through the fog, a bit bruised on the sides, she could breathe again. 

That was another thing she liked about Jamie. He had not looked at her with eyes full of questions about what had happened. He didn’t stare at her cane, nor ask questions she didn’t want to answer. He simply accepted that if she wanted to talk about it, she eventually would. There was no unhealthy curiosity about it, not even a bit of verbal clumsiness around the topic. 

Thinking once more about the Scot, she noticed a mop of red hair in the distance. His curls were blowing in the wind as he worked in the middle of the grape plants. He was shirtless, carrying a basket on his shoulder, the muscles of his arms flexing with each movement.   
  
Claire knew she shouldn't stay on the balcony to watch; and yet, she couldn’t detach her eyes from him. 

_So she didn’t._

While sipping her coffee, her eyes followed him around shamelessly. It went on for a few minutes before Jamie — who most likely felt someone observing him — looked up and saw her. 

She was thankful he was too far away to see the embarrassing blushing of her cheeks and the expression on her face. Not knowing what to do, she held up her hand and waved vigorously. 

_She was mortified._

Jamie waved back, about to yell something to her; but at that moment, Mary came out of the house and called for him. It had been a few weeks since Claire had seen her, and now, her belly was starting to blossom. Showing hints of life under her t-shirt. The sight punched Claire in the gut. Quickly, she turned around and darted back into her room.

What she didn’t see was Jamie desperately looking up to find her again. 

_“Porca miseria,_ ” she mumbled to herself, shaking her head of curls. She hadn’t felt this foolish since she was a young teen discovering that her first crush wasn’t interested. 

***********

Since moving here, Jamie had noticed that his grumpiness had lessened by a few notches. It was the weather, the pace of life, the good food. But mostly, it was the sight of Claire that brought him joy. _Unabashed and pure joy._

He still didn’t know how he should ask her on a date, but he needed to figure it out quickly. The need to spend time with her felt primal, like the way humans needed water and food to live and air to breathe. 

He wondered what Willie would think of the situation — _he’d love her no doubt, who wouldn’t?_ And he would have known what to say to his little brother about it all. Willie would’ve helped him gather his courage to ask Claire Beauchamp on a date. But Willie wasn’t here for any of this, so the only thing Jamie could do — _the only thing he did when he needed to clear his head_ — was head towards the little chapel. 

He discovered it the same day he moved to San Gimignano and came a few times a week. It wasn’t grand, a typical village church, but it was enough. Peaceful and calm. Each time Jamie had come, he found it almost empty.   
  
_Almost._

Nearly every time Jamie visited, an elderly man was sitting on the first row, his hands clasped together around a rosary. His head was always down, murmuring his prayers in a near-silent whisper of Latin. 

Jamie sat on the last row as quietly as he could, kneeling down on the wooden bench. Clasping his hands, he closed his eyes and started to pray in Gaelic. 

He had never been a particularly Catholic person, though raised in a Catholic household; but since the passing of his brother, the solace that prayers brought him was unlike anything else. It was the only way he still felt he could communicate with William, so he embraced it. 

For several minutes, he prayed for his father. For his brother. For his mother. The people taken away from him far sooner than they should have. He liked to think they were all watching over him, sharing laughs and a dram of whisky. The thought made his lips flick up into a smile.   
  
Slowly, his thoughts drifted back to Claire _— as they always did, these days._

To the morning at the lake. 

To the first time he laid eyes on her on the piazza, and the way her laugh sounded and her smile shone bright.   
  
To the lovely sight of her on her balcony this morning. Half-blinded by the sun, he had still been able to see the messy curls on her head, dishevelled from sleep. From afar, he couldn’t see but he was sure her eyes bore the loveliest hint of sleepiness, while her cheeks were pink with the satisfaction of a restful night. He saw her sip something — _most likely a coffee_ — and she wore what seemed to be a white nightgown, rather open at the front. 

He had waved back at her, but when he was about to call her name, Mary called him to come help inside and carry something up the stairs. When he turned back to gesture he’d be right back, Claire had disappeared from the balcony. 

The silence in the chapel was deafening, the slightest noise from the crickets outside making its way between the sacred walls. Jamie was engulfed by stillness as he prayed some more and finished with the sign of the cross. 

In a way as to not disturb the other man in the room, he rose quietly from the bench and made his way towards the candles to light a few. 

Without him realising it, the olden man came to stand next to Jamie to light a few candles too. Only then did the Scot notice how the man carried himself — dressed impeccably in a light suit and a linen shirt, opened slightly to reveal his gold chain. He had his ivy cap in his hands to wear outside. His hair was white, and his skin was tanned like a man who had spent his entire life outdoors. 

He smiled at Jamie, a kind and warm expression. 

“Ciao, _signore_.”

“Oh, hello,” Jamie smiled back. He really needed to start those Italian lessons. _Maybe he could take up Claire on her offer after all?_

“Ah, you are lo _Scozzese_?” he asked in a thick accent. His English wasn’t perfect, but Jamie was grateful he made the effort at all. “The Scot?”

“Aye, ‘tis me,” Jamie nodded, his voice not too loud given where they were. 

“Jamie Fraser.” He held out his hand, remembering the only Italian word needed in this circumstance. “ _Piacere_.” 

The man grinned, shaking his hand firmly. “Nino Gregorio. _Il piacere e mio.”_

“I’m afraid my Italian is verra limited,” Jamie admitted, a bit shamefully. 

“How long have you been living here?”

“Three months, aye.” 

“Ah, it’ll improve.” Nino patted his arm and winked. “I will no’ judge you, my English is not very good.” 

“Better than my Italian,” Jamie chuckled as he followed the man out of the little chapel. The heat was like a punch to his face, but he was slowly starting to get used to it. He almost missed the rain, though. _Almost_. 

He watched as Nino put on his hat. He seemed as cool as a cucumber, used to the roasting sunshine after living his whole life here. 

“Are you enjoying the village?” 

“Very much so, aye,” Jamie smiled, nodding.   
  
Time passed effortlessly as they continued talking. The two men started to walk together along the path of the village, already becoming fast friends. 

“I was born here. Lived here all my life, which is a very long time,” Nino gave him a look and winked again. “What brought you to Tuscany?” 

“My brother and I bought a vineyard. We wanted to start our own business. What better place to do it than here?” He gestured around at the painting-like scenery. All around them were shades of yellow and green. Crickets were singing and lavender bushes sat along the edge of the road. 

Tuscany had always been Willie’s idea of heaven, and it was starting to become Jamie’s too. 

“ _Si_ , you came to the right place,” Nino smiled, nodding. 

“I think so too, aye,” Jamie agreed, walking slowly. 

“What’s on your mind, _ragazzo_? You seem too preoccupied for one so young as yourself. Worries aren’t good for the mind, you know.” 

Jamie shrugged softly, both surprised and embarrassed by the old man’s notice. 

“I’m no’ worried, per se. ‘Tis just, I have a lot on my mind these days, it’ll pass.” He smiled softly, knowing full well his infatuation with Claire wouldn’t pass anytime soon.

_“E l’amore?_ ” Nino stopped and looked at him, eyebrows raised in question. 

“Yeah, somethin’ of the sort.” He shrugged and sat down on the bench alongside their path. 

Nino sat next to the tall Scot, patting his back vigorously. “Love should not be a worry. Never.” 

“Weel, ‘tis easy to say,” Jamie couldn’t help but grin. “I’m sure ye never had an issue wi’ love.” 

Nino thought for a brief second, a stern and serious expression taking over his face. Then, a mischievous grin broke. 

“No, never actually.” 

“See? I knew ye dinna have any problem!” Jamie laughed. “A real Casanova, it seems to me.” 

“Yes, but even a Casanova gets knocked off his feet and has to crawl until he’s ready to get up from heartbreak again.” Melancholy took over his vivid green eyes — something that told Jamie there was more to the story after all. 

“I was ten when I met her for the first time, and I’ve loved her ever since.” Nino smiled then, reminiscing. 

“She was my first kiss, my best friend. Carlotta...” 

“What happened?” Jamie frowned, afraid to intrude. 

“Another _ragazzo_ happened.” He removed his hat and looked at Jamie. “He came and swept her off her feet.”

“To be fair, I didn’t tell her how much I loved her for many years — I still haven’t, to this day. I was young, naive, and I thought she’d be still there when I was ready, waiting for me.”

“But she wasna,” Jamie finished, his heart sinking. 

Nino shook his head, still smiling sadly. “We have been friends since we were children, and I am so grateful for that. I know he made her very happy. That’s all I care about, that she was happy. It is enough for me to love her from afar, even still now.” 

The older man got up, “I don’t know what I was trying to tell you with this, but I hope whoever you love, you go for it. Waiting is no’ going to help anything, it’s rather quite the contrary.” 

“You’re right,” Jamie nodded, getting up in turn. “Thank you, Nino.” 

“No, thank you for the company, _amico_.” 

“Nino!” 

The voice came from behind Jamie, illuminating the old man’s face suddenly. 

When Jamie turned around, it felt like he was experiencing a vision of what Claire would look like in fifty years. The woman shared the same brown eyes as her, the same dazzling smile. The only difference was the light hair pinned back on her head — but given the frizz, he realised there must be curls brushed to oblivion. The resemblance was rather uncanny. 

“Ah, I’m afraid I have to leave you here, Jamie. I’ll see you a la _messa_.” He tipped his hat at him and winked, making his way towards his female companion. 

Jamie watched as the two of them greeted one another before they started to walk together, arms linked, disappearing through the lavender fields. He couldn’t help but succumb to a vision of him and Claire at that age — still here. 

_Together._

At that moment, he decided it was time to finally ask the curly-headed chef out on a date. If only he realised how hard a task it would prove itself to be. 


	8. What the Heart Wants

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! I hope everybody is safe and doing well. I also hope this little chapter brings some sunshine during the weird time we’re all going through right now. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading along, as always.

Claire sat on a stool by the bar, eating zucchini fries and reviewing the various menu ideas for next week. What looked like fierce concentration from the outside was, in fact, a preoccupied mind, running a mile a minute, on the inside.

Her leg ached slightly from forcing too much weight on it during service, and she smelled like fried oil, but she didn’t care. She could hear the rumble of the cutlery as Giulia cleaned the tables. She could smell the faint odour of grilled vegetables hanging heavily in the air. She could taste the salt on her lips from her favourite snack. 

_But she couldn’t focus._

“Boss?” Giulia called her for what seemed to be the third time, given the amused expression on her face as she watched Claire’s delayed reaction. 

“Sorry, what?” Claire frowned, chewing on her pen. 

“I’m done with the tables, do you need me to do anything else?” 

“Oh no no,” she smiled, shaking her head of curls in the process. “Go home and enjoy your afternoon, Giulia.” 

“ _Va bene_ ,” the young girl winked and grabbed her bag quickly. _“Ci vediamo lunedi!”_

“Yes, see you on Monday,” Claire waved her hand quickly and turned back to her task. 

After twenty more minutes and no remaining zucchini fries, she decided to make herself some pasta. She couldn’t work on an empty stomach, and the fries had only been a mere snack. 

_She needed comfort, which meant she needed carbs._

Claire walked back towards the kitchen with her cane before abandoning it by the closest table. Whenever she cooked here, she could move freely without it. The space was designed precisely so she could move around while also being close enough that she could hold herself up on the counters in case she lost her balance. Opening the pantry, her eyes scanned for some flour and eggs, which she found rather quickly. 

Pasta dough never took very long to make. Mixing two eggs and some 200 grams of flour, she then added a pinch of salt and some water to blend it all together. Her hands worked the stretchy consistency for a few minutes, adding some more flour whenever it stuck to the marble top. 

When she had what she was looking for, she rolled the dough into a ball and started to flatten it with a rolling pin. That always took a little while. She always made sure to have a perfectly flat piece of dough that resembled thin paper.

Dusting flour onto her piece of work once more, she then folded it over itself a few times and ended up with something that looked like a crèpe; she followed that move up with cutting it lengthwise into two-centimetre-long pieced. 

Claire wiped her hands on her linen apron and turned on the heat to high on the cooktop. She let some water boil into a pot, generously adding salt to it. Once it reached the boiling point, she grabbed her pasta dough and masterfully untangled the pappardelle into it with sharp precision. 

It took only a couple of minutes for the pasta to be ready, so in the meantime, Claire heated some olive oil into a pan and added a good chunk of butter to melt, along with a few leaves of sage. In the bath of aromatics, the cooked pappardelle brewed for a minute or two, just enough to get the perfect coating on them. 

Cooking was the only time her mind was clear. The only time she didn’t think about anything else but the task at hand. All of her senses were awakened by the activity; might it be the smells taking residence in her nostrils, the bright colours in front of her eyes, or the simmering in the pan rattling in her ears.

Her task finally complete, she sat with a glass of red wine in hand and started to eat. The pasta melted in her mouth, making her smile. 

A knock at the door shattered the blissful solitude. 

“What did you forget, Giulia?” she asked, taking another bite of food without looking at the door. 

“It isna Giulia,” the Scottish voice answered, making her sit straighter instantly. 

“‘Tis me, Jamie.” 

Claire turned her head to look at him, a bite of pasta half-chewed in her mouth. Jamie stood by the door, dressed in shorts and a t-shirt, smiling warmly. 

“‘Tis too late for lunch?” he asked, raising his eyebrow. 

She swallowed quickly, taking a sip of wine to make it all go down easily. 

“Hi,” she croaked out. “I’m afraid service’s been done for a little while now,” she added, smiling. She wondered when she’d stop feeling all flustered in his presence. She also wondered if there was a cure available to forget one’s crush on a married man. 

“Och, next time I’ll queue from the morning to be sure to have a table then since ye dinna take bookings.” 

Claire held up her glass before taking a sip of liquid courage. “No bookings, that’s the rule. First come, first seated. If I wasn’t so lazy I could open for dinner too, but alas, I am.” 

“I wouldna call ye lazy,” he chuckled softly, walking over to where she was sitting. 

“Oh, but I am,” she grinned in response. 

“What are ye eatin?” he asked, looking curiously at the plate of pasta. 

“Sage and butter pappardelle.” 

Jamie picked up her glass of wine and swirled it around before smelling it with his eyes closed. He smiled then, a sight that made her knees wobble. _Thank God she was sitting._

“Ye ken yer wines, eh?” He put the glass back, leaning against the counter. 

“A thing or two about them, yeah,” she shrugged but smiled. “I know what I like to drink when I eat certain things, that’s for sure.” 

“I’m starvin’, can I have a taste of that pasta?” he asked, a childlike and sheepish expression taking over his face. 

“You know I’m Italian, so I won’t ever let someone starve under my roof,” Claire teased, rising and grabbing a clean plate to fill. 

Smiling, Jamie sat down on the other stool and watched her, which didn’t do anything to help her nervousness around him. The delight she experienced at seeing him both excited and terrified her. 

She put the plate and a fork down in front of him and sat again. _“Buon appetito.”_

“Aye, ye too,” he smiled and picked up the fork. 

“Do ye have a spoon?” He asked innocently. 

Claire stopped mid-bite and looked at him, “A spoon? To eat your pasta?” 

“Weel…”

“Get out of my restaurant,” she grinned, pointing toward the door. 

Jamie laughed, holding his hands up. “I guess no spoon then. How do you say it in Italian?”

“ _Cucchiaio_ ,” she said simply. 

“Cucchiaio,” he repeated slowly. 

“Trust me, it’s not that difficult to eat pasta without one, and if you live in Italy, you definitely don’t use a spoon. It’s almost a law,” she quipped and twisted her fork around a pappardelle. She held it up in front of him, “Open up.” 

The Scot obliged and leaned forward, eating the pasta. His eyes never looked away from hers. 

“Christ.”

Claire watched attentively, noticing how his eyes widened as soon as he had tasted the pasta. She felt a ping of pride at that, like she always did whenever people complimented her cooking. 

“Sage and butter are probably what heaven is made of,” she said simply, reluctantly unlocking her eyes from his. 

“So when ye eat pasta wi’ a spoon ye dinna end up in heaven, Sassenach? Is that it?” he asked, his lip flicking up into an amused smirk. 

“Exactly,” she grinned and started to eat again. 

“How have ye been, Sassenach? ‘Tis been a few weeks since I’ve seen ye around.” 

“I’ve good— fine,” she responded. She wasn’t going to tell him how much she had thought about him, or how much she craved seeing him. The less often she acknowledged those facts, the better it would be for everyone. 

“What about you?”

“Och, good too!” His smile broadened. “The business is finally on track, and we decided on a name and designs for the bottles and such. The first ones should be ready to test out in a few weeks.” 

“That’s exciting!” She couldn’t help but smile wider too. His happiness was rather contagious. 

“Would ye like to see the design?”Jamie asked, already reaching for his phone before she had time to answer. 

“Of course,” she nodded, watching him. 

Jamie held out his phone to her to show the various designs for the labels. She looked up at him, still grinning. “ _Il Campanile_ , huh?”

“Aye.” He suddenly seemed shy, his cheeks reddening. “Named after one mornin’ when I went to the village and I saw the belltower in the middle of the piazza.”

_And you laughing next to it, he added silently._

“It’s lovely,” she said sincerely, handing him back the phone. “And the design is really neat.”

“Thank ye,” he smiled rather proudly. “Mary is a great graphic designer.”

The name alone was enough for Claire to come down from her high in a crash against a gravel pavement. Whenever she let herself go— _every time she forgot even for a brief minute the existence of Mary Fraser_ — it would come back like a slap in the face.  
  
 _Each time, it reminded her that Jamie wasn’t hers and never would be._

“Indeed,” she answered simply and took her last sip of wine. 

Jamie finished his plate of pasta, still smiling. He didn’t seem to notice the way her expression had changed; and for that, she was thankful. 

“Now, tell me, Sassenach,” he leaned on his elbows, watching her intently. “When are ye takin’ me to Florence?”

“To Florence?” She frowned, thinking for a brief moment. “I’m afraid I’m rather busy at the moment,” she lied, finishing her pasta. “But I’ll let you know as soon as I plan on going.” 

She wouldn’t let him know, that was for sure. Not because she didn’t want his company while walking around her favourite city _— quite the contrary._ But because being his friend wouldn’t be enough, and his friend was all she could be. _A few years ago, she would have played with the fire. She would have gladly gotten burned._ Now, the simple thought of it almost made her wince in pain. 

“Do let me know please,” he smiled softly, looking genuinely disappointed that they hadn’t set a date. 

“Oh, and about those Italian lessons we talked about a while ago…” Claire remembered.

He watched her, nodding. Something passed through his blue eyes, brief and unreadable to her. “Aye?” 

“You should probably ask my grandmother for them, because again, I’m pretty busy at the restaurant and I don’t want to promise something I wouldn’t be able to follow up with.” 

“She’d be more than happy to teach you. She used to say my grandfather was the worse pupil she ever had, and I recall him speaking perfect Italian so she does a great job,” Claire couldn’t help but smile at that memory. 

“I’ll ask her then,” Jamie nodded, smiling. Gently, he patted her hand in a gesture that was in no way intrusive, his skin hot against her own. 

Claire removed her hand slowly and got up from her stool. She started to gather the dirty dishes and brought them over the sink. 

Jamie watched her and got up as well, joining her by the counter. He grabbed a sponge and opened the tap with a grin. “Ye fed me, now I’m on cleanin’ duty.”

“I was going to put them in the dishwasher, but suit yourself,” she chuckled, watching the big Scot tidying up the various pots and plates. 

“I dinna mind,” he grinned, looking down at his task. “When I was a lad, back home, I always did this chore. My Da cooked, my brother set and unset the table, and I washed the plates. I dinna ken, it always relaxed me.” 

“What about your mother?” 

The question escaped her more quickly than she had realised and she cursed herself silently, now seeing how Jamie tensed up. 

“My Ma passed away when she gave birth to me, I never kent her,” he said sadly, looking at her. “’Twas always me and the lads.” He put the wet plates onto the drying rack before continuing his task. 

“I’m sorry, Jamie,” she said sincerely, touching his arm in a sympathetic gesture. 

“Dinna fash,” he smiled tenderly, looking at her. “I ken my mam is always watchin’ over me and also takin’ care of my da and brother too now.” 

“You know, I bet they’re all so very proud of you.” 

Jamie shrugged, still smiling, “I’m no’ sure about that.”

“Maybe not, but I am.” 

“Thank ye, a nighean, truly.” 

“You know,” she started hesitantly before continuing, “I lost my parents too. I was five when they were in a car accident on the way to a dinner party, one evening. I barely remember them…I think without the pictures I wouldn’t at all.” 

“‘Tis part of yer long story, eh?” he asked softly and she smiled in response, remembering what she had told him upon their first meeting. 

“It is _a_ _part_ of it, yes. After that, I came to live here with my grandparents; but my grandfather, the staunch Englishman, wanted me to follow his and my father’s footsteps, so I was sent to boarding school when I was eight. I’d come back here for the holidays and so on. That’s why I have such a snobbish accent, you see.”

“Aye, I see alright,” he grinned, splashing some water at her while he continued washing the dishes. 

“Anyways,” she continued, ignoring his childish ways. “I went to boarding school — schools, actually, because I kept escaping and getting expelled.” 

Jamie’s eyes widened and he laughed, “A wee rebel?”

“You could say that,” she smirked proudly. “I went to four different ones. It was rather fun, I won’t lie to you. Then after that, I lived here on and off, travelling around as much as I could before I decided to take over the restaurant when my grandfather passed away.” 

“That is no’ a verra long story, Sassenach.”

“I spared you a couple of details,” she nudged him and walked back slowly towards the table. 

Jamie wiped his hands once he was done and turned around to lean against the counter. She didn’t notice the way he was watching her — _maybe if she had, she would have realised that he did not belong to any other woman but her._

“Are ye done here? I could drive ye back home, if ye like?”

“Oh yeah, I’m done,” she took off her apron and folded it properly. “If you don’t mind, that’d be lovely.”

Together, they walked out of the restaurant and Jamie waited as she locked the door. He watched as she unpinned her mad curls to let them roam free and smiled at the lovely sight in front of his eyes. 

“I’m wi’ the vespa, would that be alright?”

Claire looked at him - then, trying to suppress the shiver that each reminder of her accident brought back every time. She used to love jumping on a motorcycle — to drive recklessly fast and to feel free. Now, she hated the whole thing. 

“Oh, actually, it wouldn’t be very convenient. But don’t worry, I’ll walk, it’s good for my leg anyway. My doctor always tells me to walk more,” she reassured him and managed a smile. 

“Are ye sure?”

She nodded, “I am!”

Nodding in turn, Jamie grabbed his helmet and put it on his head before sitting onto the Vespa. “Oh, I wanted to ask ye…”

“Yeah?” She looked at him, waiting for his question. 

“I saw there was a Fellini retrospective at the cinema this Friday and I thought that maybe, perhaps, we could go together?” 

_Of course, she wanted to go_ — the idea alone made her heart flutter. 

Yet, she couldn’t bring herself to say yes. Whatever her heart desired, her rational mind wasn’t going to let it through. 

“Oh,” she rubbed the back of her head, “I don’t really like Fellini, actually.” 

_Biggest lie of the century._

Claire simply prayed it wasn’t written all over her damn face that she knew ‘La Dolce Vita’ by heart and that ‘Satiricon’ was one of her favourite movies. 

“I’m sorry, maybe some other time?” Claire couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes because if she did, she’d be lost at sea. 

“Some other times, aye,” he nodded, sounding a little disappointed, and smiled at her. Jamie started the Vespa and looked at her, “See ye around, Sassenach.” 

Claire watched as he drove away from her, receding from the piazza. Her heart was aching, her head was pounding; and for the first time in a really long time, she felt engulfed by sadness. 

“Better not,” she whispered to herself.


	9. Past Loves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, thank you SO MUCH for reading. I hope you guys are doing well and staying safe!

_Asking Claire Beauchamp on a date was easier said than done._

If she wasn’t busy, she seemed to be doing her best to avoid being alone with him. The more time that passed, the more James Fraser started to think maybe — _just maybe_ — she didn’t even want to be his friend. 

It wasn’t helping that the work at the winery was taking a good chunk of his time. It was crucial for him to start the business off on the right foot. Now that everything was beginning, he had to focus to make sure he wasn’t driving right into a wall. 

In handling the business side of things, including the production and the calling of various investors and resellers, his plate became very full.   
  
As for Mary, she was getting rounder by the day, helping as much as she could given her state and her inherent exhaustion. On the other hand, the sheer happiness on her face was enough to boost Jamie’s spirits. He knew he had to do this for his family — _for Mary, for the bairn, and for William, who was watching from above._

An orange pummeling into his arm took him rudely out of his thoughts. Jamie had been standing by the plants, picking grapes as he did every morning. Next to him, grinning, was Nino. 

“I called you three times and you did not answer. Who are you thinking about?” the old man asked, crossing his arms. Nino was dressed in his usual attire of a linen suit, a white camisole underneath, and his hat. 

Jamie shook his head and picked up the orange from the ground. “I wasna thinkin’ about anyone in particular, just workin’.”

“I’m seventy, don’t insult me by thinking I will believe such a lie,” Nino laughed and sat down on the bench nearby.

_“So, qui è?”_

“English, please?” Jamie grinned and returned to his task. 

“Your lady? Who is it?” 

“I dinna have a lady, Nino. Ye dinna have to believe me, but that’s the truth.”

“I don’t have a lady either, but that doesn’t mean I’m not thinking of one.” 

“Oh, ye dinna have a lady, huh?” Jamie’s eyebrow raised as he looked at his friend. “Ye’ve been spendin’ all yer time with Carlotta, or am I mistaken? I noticed ye’re no’ alone at Church anymore.” 

“What can I say? Charm runs wild in that family, you would know,” Nino winked and Jamie’s cheeks turned the colour of a lobster. 

“Claire and I are only friends,” the Scot mumbled, not even sure of that fact. 

“No no,” Nino removed his hat and watched him. “Carlotta and I are friends. Ye’re in love wi’ Claire.” 

“Ye’re no’ going to leave me alone wi’ this, are ye?” Jamie sighed, putting the basket he was carrying on the ground. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and went to sit next to Nino. 

“Why would I leave you alone? So you waste time and then live your life with regrets? _No, non voglio._ ” 

“Do ye have regrets?” Jamie smiled softly, nudging him a bit. 

Nino’s lip flicked up into a smile as he nodded slowly. “Of course I do, but if I had had my way back then with Carlotta, she wouldn’t have met David, and your Claire wouldn’t have been born. So, don’t let my regrets fool you. Do let them guilt you, however, into asking her on a date, so at least my heartbreak wasn’t for nothing.” 

“I tried to ask her, she’s no’ interested,” he said sadly, his eyes glued on the sight of Claire’s house in the distance. 

“Aren’t you starting Italian lessons with Carlotta soon?”

“Aye,” he nodded. “Thank ye for organisin’ that, by the way.”

“ _Prego_ ,” Nino smiled, looking at him. “So, you’ll likely be around Claire then maybe she’ll be home sometimes. Then, there is the village’s celebration next week. Everyone gathers on the piazza to eat and drink and dance, and that is another good occasion to charm her!”

Jamie wasn’t too sure the Italian lessons were such a good idea after all. He had never properly met Claire’s grandmother, other than what Nino had told him about her. And he wasn’t sure he wanted to watch Claire try to avoid him on a weekly basis. He wasn’t much of a Casanova, but he usually knew what to do around women. With Claire, though, he was at a complete loss. _Loss for words. Loss for actions._

“Don’t despair,” Nino assured, patted Jamie’s knee. “I’ve waited sixty years for Carlotta.” 

Jamie looked at him, smirking. “ I thought you said you two were just friends?” 

“Eh, maybe we kissed the other day,” Nino smirked as he got up and put back on his hat. He smiled mischievously, though happiness shone on his face. “See? Nothing is ever truly lost. It just takes some time. Give it time, give her time, and give yourself some time too. You only arrived here a few months ago, you’re still figuring things out.” 

“Aye, ye’re right,” Jamie admitted. It was true, he had only known Claire for a few months, though it felt like an eternity. 

“I have known Claire since she was a child, I think you two would be a good match.” 

“Weel, I think so too,” Jamie smiled warmly at the thought. “But ‘tis no’ for me to say.” 

“You will figure something out, _ragazzo_ ,” Nino winked and started to walk away. 

_“Ci vediamo!”_

“Aye,” Jamie leaned back, watching his friend leave. “See ye, Nino.” 

Jamie sat on the bench for a bit longer, pondering what to do. He looked up once more, and he saw Claire on her balcony, enjoying her morning coffee — like she did every day. The sight made him smile, as it always did. 

She didn’t seem to notice him, though. She was preoccupied, staring at her phone with a worried expression on her beautiful face. Jamie heard the faint noise of her ringtone in the distance, but it was cut short by Claire at once. 

Without another look around the garden, she went back inside her bedroom and shut the French doors. 

“Are ye goin’ to stare at her balcony forever, Romeo?” Mary’s voice came from the porch, the sudden noise prompting him to turn towards her.   
  
Without answering verbally, Jamie simply rolled his eyes. 

“I’m serious, Jamie. If ye dinna tell the lass ye like her, she’s no’ gonna guess by herself! Maybe ye should climb up and declare the flame ye carry for her,” his sister-in-law grinned, walking over to him. 

“Ah ah, verra funny.” 

“I’m just tryin’ to help here, ye know?”

“Thank ye verra much, but I dinna need any help, Mary. I’ve got it all figured out,” he lied. Reaching down to pick up his basket, he rose from the bench. “Now, if ye dinna mind, I’m going back to work because no one will pick the grapes if I dinna do it, and the employees don’t start until next month.” 

“Do that,” she teased as she crossed her arms and watched him. “But once ye’re done, could ye go to the market for me? Giulia told me that on Thursdays, Claire sells some freshly-made pasta. I’d like some.” 

“Aye, of course I’ll go to the market,” he rolled his eyes. “But I hope ye ken ye’re wicked, Mary!”

“Oh, I ken,” she grinned and went back into the house. “I also ken ye’ll thank me for that one day!”

***********

“Do you want some octopus?” Carlotta asked, looking at her granddaughter. “We can grill it,” she added, while Claire stared distantly at some fruit.   
  
The market wasn’t particularly busy today, and there was no sign of a red-haired giant _– both facts for which she was thankful._ She had managed to avoid Jamie for the past few weeks, and she was determined to keep at it, no matter how annoyed it made her. 

She had too many things on her mind, and adding James Fraser on top of it all wouldn’t do her much good. 

“ _Stellina_?” Carlotta called again. “Are those apples particularly enticing?” 

“Wot?” Claire turned her head and looked at her grandmother. “Sorry, what were you saying?”

“I said, we could get some octopus to grill for dinner.” 

“Oh yeah,” she smiled softly, “With a salad, it sounds good.” 

Carlotta knew enough about her grandchild to not ask any questions, because she wouldn’t get satisfactory answers, anyway. That didn’t mean she wouldn’t closely study the young woman to try and figure out those answers herself. 

“You have been awfully quiet, Claire,” she said nonchalantly while paying for the fish. 

“I’m just tired, and my leg hurts,” Claire mumbled. It wasn’t a complete lie. She was tired, and her leg ached. 

“Well, you will rest today,” Carlotta ordered, looking at her. “The restaurant is closed, and all the pasta is sold, so don’t cook up an excuse not to take care of yourself, _va bene_?” 

_“Va bene,_ ” Claire agreed and followed her towards another stall. She picked up a peach and paid for it. “I wasn’t planning on staying in town, anyway, you know.” 

“Oh, I’d gathered that.”

Claire didn’t comment on her grandmother’s remark and started to eat the peach as they walked around slowly — in silence, only the hubbub of the market around them. 

After a minute or two, Carlotta spoke again. 

“I’m not going back to the house with you once we’re done…” she hesitated, then added, “I’m meeting Nino in a bit to go to the chapel.” 

“You’ve been spending an awful lot of time with Nino these days.” Claire couldn’t help but smirk, looking at her. And by the colour the older lady’s cheeks took, Claire’s smirk grew larger. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on? Or will I have to guess?” 

“I’m too old to have things going on,” Carlotta threw her an annoyed glance before a smile erupted on her face. 

“All right, time _per un cafe_.” Claire took her arm, and together they walked towards their favourite bar to have a drink. They sat on the terrace at a table near the fountain of the piazza; and within a minute, Lisa, the owner, had brought them both cappuccinos and some biscottis. 

“So, I want to know everything,” Claire broke the silence and picked up her cup of coffee. 

“There isn’t much to know, _amore_ ,” the older lady said, seeing the scepticism on her granddaughter’s face. “ _Veramente_.” 

“Well I don’t really believe you,” Claire grinned and took a sip. “Are you having sex?” she asked at once, seeing her grandmother’s eyes widen at the bold question. 

“Claire!” Carlotta croaked, choking on a piece of biscotti. 

“Sorry,” she chuckled, handing her a glass of water. “I couldn’t help it.”

“I wish you were a bit more English sometimes and a little less Italian. You speak your mind way too much.” Carlotta took a sip of water and then smiled. 

“You have yourself to blame for my Italian side,” Claire patted her hand and winked. “Look, you don’t have to tell me anything, okay? Just know that whatever might be going on, whatever will go on...I’m glad you look so happy lately. And I know Grandpa would be glad about it too.” Claire squeezed Carlotta’s hand gently, smiling.   
  
It had been almost ten years since David Beauchamp had passed away. Ten years in which her grandmother had grieved over the love of her life. Claire knew she was too much of a proper Italian widow to even permit herself to feel some type of way about any other man. But sometimes, it couldn’t be helped. It also would never replace the love she still had for her husband and the great love story they shared. 

“I’m being foolish you know,” her grandmother said softly, resting her hand on top of hers. “I’m not a young woman anymore...I don’t even know what I have been thinking with all of this.”

“You shouldn’t think too much about it,” Claire gently brushed off a tear that had escaped her grandmother’s eye. “You should just take it as it comes and enjoy it. You’ve known Nino for what? A lifetime?” 

“ _Si_ ,” she nodded, smiling. 

“Well, you both might not be sixteen anymore, but it doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy each other’s company and spend time together. You aren’t betraying Grandpa by doing it, you know?”

Carlotta looked down at her hand, her eyes resting on a wedding ring she never took off. 

“I miss him, you know?” Her voice was low as she said it. “I’ve been missing him for the last ten years, and every day, I think I’ll start missing him a little less but it doesn’t happen. Sometimes, I still wake up and wonder what I’ll make him for breakfast before I remember I’m alone in bed. Sometimes, I even start talking to him as if he’s with me in the room, expecting an answer that never comes.” 

“Of course I know you miss him, so do I,” Claire added soothingly. “You spent fifty years with him, that’s quite a long time.” 

“That wasn’t nearly long enough,” Carlotta smiled through the tears. “My heart isn’t what it used to be...it’s broken and very old, I don’t think it’ll ever be open again.”

“I think you just started to open it again, nonna. I also think it frightens you awfully, but it shouldn’t. Opening your heart isn’t going to erase its history.” 

“You might be right,” she admitted, still holding Claire’s hand.

“There isn’t anything wrong about having a man like Nino around. A man that respects you and makes you happy. Now, I’d seen you and Grandpa, I know how you two were — in fact, you set a pretty high standard to meet!” 

Carlotta laughed, wiping her cheeks. “You will find yourself a man like this too, one day. I know you will. Men like your grandfather are rare, but thankfully, they do exist.” 

Nodding, Claire smiled. She couldn’t help the fact that her mind wandered to Jamie...to how things might have worked out if he wasn’t married to another woman. She had never believed in love at first sight _— she was too practical for it —_ but it seemed that since meeting the Scot, he had turned those beliefs upside down. 

“Now, speaking of the devil,” Claire smirked, tilting her head toward Nino, who was walking toward them. 

Carlotta looked at Nino and blushed. Quickly, she finished her coffee and got up. “Will you be alright?” 

“I sure will,” Claire said, leaning back. “I’ll see you later, nonna.” 

Her grandmother kissed the top of her head, whispered a sweet ‘ _ti amo_ ’, and walked away from the bar to join her companion. 

Claire couldn’t help her smile broadening as she watched them both walk arm in arm. Her grandmother was a beautiful woman, still very fit and active for her age. After her grandfather’s passing, she had often wondered if Carlotta would ever date some other men, even if the prospect for it had seemed to be out of the question. But now, seeing her happy and smiling, on the arm of an old friend who had been in love with her for most of his life, Claire knew her grandmother had realised love came in many forms.   
  
_There was one great love story —_ one that would consume all your being and remain imprinted on your heart forever. And there were others, smaller ones. Not less important, but not quite the same. They were simply there to remind one how to feel and how every human needed to be loved and held. It wasn’t a grand gesture, just a vital one. 

Claire finished her cappuccino and placed some money onto the table before getting up slowly. 

“Claire…”

The voice was familiar — _too familiar._ The accent English, as posh as hers. It was a voice she had not heard in a little while; one she wasn’t in any rush to ever hear again. 

_A voice she had loved. A voice she had missed once. A voice she hated now._

Slowly, she turned around, her eyes landing on to whom the voice belonged. He had not changed much — still very tall and handsome. Still dressed like the scholar he was. He had a few more grey hairs around his temple and his glasses had changed — they used to be round and golden, now they were black and thick. But overall, he still very much looked like the man who had broken her heart into thousands of pieces three years ago. 

“Franklin.”


	10. Intoxicated

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everybody is safe and doing well! This is my favourite chapter so far in the story so I hope you'll like it! 
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading. Enjoy <3

“Franklin.” 

Claire’s voice sounded harsher than she had intended, but he was the last person she expected to see. 

_The last person she wanted to see._

“Hello, you,” he smiled softly, his eyes not quite meeting hers. 

Claire rolled her eyes and started to walk away from him. She would have been running if she could, but she’d be wiser not to try. 

Quickly, Frank followed her and caught up with her, reaching for her hand, “Claire! Please, wait.” 

Looking down, she removed her hand from his grasp and looked up at him, “What the bloody fuck are you doing here?” 

“I was in Florence when I heard some people at a restaurant talking about you and the place you’re running here...I tried to call before showing up, but you never picked up.”

“Oh, I didn’t pick up, huh?” She almost laughed at that before shaking her head in disbelief. “Why exactly do you think I avoid your calls?” 

His eyes travelled down her arm to her hand and stopped on her cane, widening a bit at the sight. “What happened to you?” 

“Nothing happened. I just like to walk around with a cane, I feel like it gives me an edge, and it gets the conversation starting with assholes like yourself. Plus, it’s quite convenient when I want to hit someone.” 

“You are still the queen of sarcasm.” He couldn’t help but smile, which did nothing to calm her down. 

“Oh, am I? _Am I_?” She rolled her eyes and started to walk away again.. 

“Claire, please don’t act like a child,” he responded as he followed her. 

“I see your patronising ass has not changed either. It’s probably getting worse as you get older.” 

She continued walking, ignoring her aching leg. It frustrated her to no end to not be able to walk faster _— not to be able to leave him behind the way she wanted to._  
  
On the other hand, her heart had not been prepared for the shock of seeing Franklin again. The very same man she fell madly in love with a few years back. The only man she had ever loved, really. 

And the man who had broken her heart — making it impossible for her to even try opening it again since then. 

At once, she stopped and turned around to look at her ex. “Did she finally leave you? Is that why you’re here?” 

By _she_ , Claire meant Lucy: Frank’s wife and personal bank. She tried to count the amount of times he’d promised her he’d leave his wife when they were together, but she couldn’t. She simply remembered he promised it quite often, meaningless words she believed like a pathetic schoolgirl. 

Franklin took a second to answer, which Claire took as a good indication he was carefully trying to choose his next words. 

“We’re getting a divorce, yes. We’ve been separated for a bit more than a year now,” he finally said.“But that’s not why I’m here now. I just... wanted to see you. I missed you.” 

“Good to know. Would you like to hold my cane while I drop my knickers for you?” she asked, batting her eyelashes. 

“Claire…” he pleaded, searching for her eyes. 

“That’s why you came here, isn’t it? You thought that I’d just fall right back in love with you at the mention of your divorce? Well, it might have worked back then but it won’t work now, Franklin.” 

“At least give me more credit than that,” her ex sighed, adjusting his glasses. 

“More credit? Like every time you told me you were going to leave your wife so we could be together? No, your credit hit its limit a long time ago.” 

“I never forced you to be with me, Claire. I never thought I’d be unfaithful to my wife in the first place, but it happened! You know as well as I do how we both tried to fight it for the longest time.” 

“No, you never did force me. I knew exactly what I was getting myself into, but I did it anyway. I’m not blaming you for my own recklessness, I should have known better than to mingle with —” A hubbub of emotions was overcoming her. A dangerous mixture of repressed anger, sadness and exasperating simmering to the surface. 

“Oh come on, you were more than that!” 

“You’ve never been a particularly funny person, but this might be the best joke you’ve ever told, darling.” 

“I fell for you, Claire,” he admitted seemingly sincerely, coming closer to her. “Just like you fell for me. I agree, the situation was not ideal, and if I could have done things differently I would have, but I don’t have a time machine.” 

“The past is the past. I can’t erase what I did with you, but I can learn from my mistakes so it doesn’t happen again. That’s about all I can do.” 

Frank nodded, a certain sadness rooted in his clear blue eyes. 

Claire realized how the colour was so different from Jamie’s, who had darker undertones. The two men couldn’t be more different in looks. She was so immersed in her thoughts of the Scot that she didn’t realize Franklin’s hand had come to cup her cheek until she felt his cold skin on hers. 

“Don’t touch me,” she pulled away suddenly, leaning over her cane so to not lose her balance. 

Ignoring her, he did it again.

“I believe the lady asked ye no’ to touch her.”

Both English heads turned to where the thick voice had come from. To Claire, it was pretty clear to whom it belonged to. To Frank, it understandably seemed to come as a little bit as a shock.

“And you are?” he asked poshly, looking at Jamie. 

“James Fraser,” he introduced himself, coming to stand in front of Claire and holding out his hand to the other man, a gesture the Englishman ignored. 

“I’m the boyfriend,” the Scot added, taking Claire rather by surprise. 

Frank frowned, looking over Jamie, then at Claire. “Is he your boyfriend?” 

“Yeah,” she nodded automatically, and smiled. Instinctively, she wrapped her arm around Jamie’s waist and rested her head on his broad chest. She would be lying to herself if she didn’t acknowledge how safe she suddenly felt. 

“And ye are?” Jamie asked, pulling her closer. 

“Franklin Penrose. Claire and I met a few years back in London and spent some time together.” 

“I worked as a chef for Margot Henderson for a year in London, and yeah, we met during that time,” Claire confirmed, nearly mumbling. 

“I was in Florence, so I thought I’d make the trip here to see Claire and catch up.”

“Och mate, I ken how eager ye must be to talk to her but I’m afraid we have some plans for the afternoon. I’ll have to deprive ye of her lovely company.” Jamie kissed the top of Claire’s head and she couldn’t help but smile. 

“Yeah, sorry Franklin.” She broke away from the Scot, resting back on her cane. 

“Safe travels back to London.”

Jamie and Claire started to walk hand-in-hand away from the Englishman. Claire tried to ignore his soft and warm skin against hers as she turned around to take a last look at her ex. 

“I’ll be here for a few days, if you want to catch up,” Franklin said a bit louder, watching her walk away with another man. 

Claire didn’t answer and simply turned her head back around, continuing to walk. Once they were out of sight from Franklin, Jamie let go of her hand. 

“I’m sorry about that, Sassenach. I saw ye two and I thought ye might have needed some help. Of course, I shouldn’t have assumed, but ye looked pretty angry— ”

“Don’t apologize, Jamie,” she interrupted and smiled, touching his arm. “Thank you for stepping in. I didn’t know how to get rid of him.” 

“Do ye need to talk abou’ it?” he asked gently, watching her carefully. 

“Do you have some alcohol and a couple of hours?” she chuckled softly, not expecting him to say yes. 

“Aye, I do,” he grinned. “I need to get the bottle, or, well, bottles in this case, but I have whatever ye need, Sassenach.” 

Claire looked up at him, her smile growing and the sadness in her heart melting away. If she could only have him as a friend, it was better than nothing. 

“I have a good whisky I brought from home,” Jamie offered. “I’ll go pick it up and I’ll meet ye at the lake? How about that?” 

“It’s been a while I had good whisky,” Claire observed out loud.

“I take it as a yes, then?” he smiled, winking — or trying to wink. 

“Yes,” she nodded and squeezed his hand as a thank you. 

***********

Claire sat on the grass by the lake, a linen cover spread under her body. Her cane rested next to her and a faint breeze blew through her curls as the sun shone on.   
  
Closing her eyes, her mind drifted to her life in London a couple of years ago. To the months of working with one of her favourite chefs and her meeting Frank. She could see herself laughing with him in the rain one morning near Camden. They had kissed for the first time that day. 

She could see the usual pub they’d meet at to have dinner and share pints before they’d retreat to a little hotel in Soho, where they’d spend nights together tangled between the sheets. She could hear the arguments, too. And feel the numerous tears that had streamed down her cheeks. 

Finally, she could see the very last morning she had spent in London, packing up her suitcases while Frank slept in bed. She had taken one last look at him and left to head back to Italy without more than a note. 

Now, apart from the crickets, no sound was to be heard by the water. At least, not until Jamie approached, his stride making her turn her head to look up at the giant Scot. 

“There you are,” she smiled, watching him sit down next to her. 

“Got my best bottles.” He held up two bottles of whisky, grinning proudly. 

“Oh, _bottles_.” She made a face and chuckled. “Want to get wasted, do you?” 

“‘Tis been a long time since I got drunk in the middle of the afternoon,” he admitted, handing her one of the bottles. “One for ye and one for me.” 

“Me too,” she took it gratefully and opened it. “I can’t even think of the last time, but I know I did it quite often at boarding school.” 

“Ye wee rebel,” he nudged her and smiled. 

“How much of that conversation did you hear? Between me and Franklin?” she asked, her eyes glued to the lake in front of them. 

“A wee bit, but ‘tis none of my business, Sassenach. Ye dinna have to tell me anythin’.” 

She shrugged and took a sip of whisky, closing her eyes as the liquid burned her gullet. “I don’t mind, you know. We all have exes and mistakes we’d like to forget.” 

“Aye, we do,” he chuckled, opening the other bottle. 

“I hadn’t seen Franklin in a while though,” she said slowly. “At least three years, since we broke up.”

“Why did it end? If ye dinna mind me asking?” Jamie took a sip and looked at her. 

“He was married,” she said, a bit shamefully. “I knew about it when we started to see one another, but I believed he’d leave his wife for me. You know, he was a bit older, dashing, charming. He was funny and intelligent. I loved to spend time with this guy. One thing led to another, and before I knew it I was in deep.”

Claire stopped to take a sip, a longer one this time. Then, she continued. 

“He kept promising he’d leave her. He’d say simply that he was waiting for the right moment to do it, and I thought it was maybe for the best. I never wanted to shatter a marriage. I simply listened to what my heart was saying, not my head.”

“But it led to a broken heart, aye?” 

Nodding, she looked at Jamie and smiled sadly. “Worse than broken. It was splattered on the road and cars kept driving over it.” 

“How are ye feelin’ now? Seein’ him?” 

Jamie’s question surprised her a bit. She didn’t expect him to be interested in how she was feeling, and yet. 

“I don’t even know what I’m feeling,” she said sincerely, both still drinking out of their respective bottles. Claire could already feel her head getting lighter as the alcohol made its way into her bloodstream. 

“I used to imagine what I’d say to him if we ever saw one another again. I had this big speech in my head that I’d deliver a certain way to show him how detached I was and how much I didn’t care anymore...I’m still angry, that’s certain.”

“But another part of ye can’t deny what ye ever felt for him, aye? And ye feel foolish.” 

“That’s exactly it.” Her voice was barely above a whisper as she confirmed his suspicion. “No matter what, I can’t deny I loved this guy. He was the first man I ever did love, actually. One can’t forget one’s first love, no matter how shitty it ended up being.” 

“Ye canna blame yerself for livin’ a life, Sassenach. Nor for what ye feel towards people. Love isna as simple as people would like to think it is. ‘Tis ugly and messy, sometimes, too. No one can do anythin’ about that.” 

“You’re right,” she smiled, clinking her bottle with his. 

“Aye but then…” he let his sentence die as he took another sip of whisky. “Then ye meet the right person.” 

Claire’s ribcage tightened around her heart — she knew where he was going with this train of thought, and she braced herself to hear it. She didn’t think she was ready to listen to his great love story and how he found the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, but he was kind enough to listen to her. She could only reciprocate in kind. 

“When I was a lad, my Da used to tell me and my brother about lasses,” Jamie smiled at the recollection. “He used to say that the minute he met our Ma, he knew she was the right one. He felt it in his heart and deep in his bones. Then, he told us we’d feel the same when we’d meet the women we were goin’ to marry.” 

Claire looked down at her hands, nodding. She didn’t want to ask this next question, but it escaped her anyway. 

“Was he right?”

Jamie looked at her briefly, his blue eyes glued on her. The alcohol was already too overwhelming in her head for her to grasp what he was trying to say to her.

“Aye, he was.” 

“Wise man, your father,” she smiled softly and drank, closing her eyes in the process. For a brief second, the thought of asking about Mary came to her mind...quickly erased by the fear of spoiling the moment, and adding to her broken heart. 

Jamie didn’t answer, instead simply taking a long sip in turn as his other hand brushed against hers on the grass. 

They stayed at the Lake for hours, talking and drinking out of their whisky bottles. They talked about Jamie’s childhood in Scotland and Claire’s various trips around the world. They talked about Nino and Carlotta, the restaurant, wines, and how the running of a business was no easy thing. 

Then, their gradually drunken conversations barely made sense as they laughed with one another, sitting on the grass as the sun started to go down, casting a lovely orange glow around them and painting various shades of pink in the sky. 

“You know what those clouds are called?” Claire pointed in front of them, leaning against Jamie’s side. 

“Nay, Sassenach but ye will tell me,” he grinned, his arm wrapped around her shoulder. 

Claire laughed, inhaling his scent — a mixture of musk and patchouli. A scent she’d like to drown in. 

“It’s called a mackerel sky. Like the fish,” she reflected. “I don’t know why it’s named after a fish, because it doesn’t look like one, but here we are.”

“Aye, ‘tis no’ fishy at all,” Jamie chuckled, his cheeks warm from the heat and the alcohol. 

“In French it’s — ” she paused, thinking for a second. _“Un ciel pommelé.”_

Jamie looked down at her, his lip flicking up into a smile. “I like it when ye speak French, Sassenach. And Italian, too.” 

She shrugged, giggling. 

“Say somethin’ to me in Italian, again.” 

“What do you want me to say?” she frowned, their bodies _— and faces —_ dangerously close to one another. 

“How do ye say...kiss me?” 

Claire’s breath hissed at the tone of his voice — her emotions were hazy and her thoughts ungraspable. She could barely remember any Italian just now. Or anything, really. Her only thoughts were those of the Scot and how much she wanted him. 

“You say…”

Slowly, her face came closer to him, their mouths like magnets. Jamie was breathing as quickly as she was, waiting for her to make the first move. 

“ _Baciami_ ,” she whispered, her breath tickling his lips. 

“How would ye kiss me, Sassenach?” he asked, his thumb stroking her cheek. 

“At first, I’d start slowly. Very slowly.” Her lips touched his chastely before pulling away. It took all the self-control she had to not devour him right there. 

“And then?” His voice grew hoarse, his breath coming out short. 

“Then,” she moved closer to him on the linen cover. “Then, it’ll grow a bit more. You know, like this.”

Claire cupped his cheek and kissed him again, demonstrating her explanation. She felt his lips overlapping hers, and the fire in the pit of her stomach ignited at once. Reluctantly, she pulled away again, her whisky eyes locking with his blue ones. They were almost black now, given the way the light around them had faded.

“Then,” she said faintly, feeling like a teenager — both because of her drunken state and how much flirting she was engaging in. 

“Then, I mean to leave you speechless,” she concluded, her lips capturing his. Their mouths worked in tandem, tongues dancing together and lips swelling and reddening with each maddening kiss. 

Claire had thought about kissing him more times than she cared to admit, but her rationality had always erased those thoughts and brought her back to reality. To the reality where Jamie was a married man, about to be a father. 

The dangerous mixture of heartbreak and alcohol had erased any rationality, now leaving space for her to be what she liked to be best: reckless.

Her mind was blank as they continued kissing, hands wandering onto the foreign territories of their bodies. It could have gone on like this for a long time — crossing the first boundary, then a second, breaking through all of the boundaries until there would be no going back. 

But a lightning bolt of lucidity struck amidst the alcohol, making Claire realise just what they were doing. 

At once, she pulled back and looked at him — _breathless._

For the second time that day, she desperately wished she could run. _Away_. Far far away. 

“No…” she put her hand onto Jamie’s chest. “We can’t be doing this.”

She was barely able to comprehend the confused expression plastered all over the Scot’s face nor the frown deepening between his brows. Slowly, she grabbed her cane and got up as best as she could, given her leg and the alcohol consumed. She didn’t say another word and simply left him there at the lake _— deciding not to let history repeat itself._

Jamie watched her, too drunk to be able to comprehend properly himself. All he could mutter was a faint, “Sassenach?”

Vision blurring, she heard the last piece of heart break. It was a small, clean sound, like the snapping of a flower’s stem. 


	11. Admirers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and your patience with this slow burn...it’ll be over very soon, I promise. 
> 
> I decided to post multiple chapters this week so watch out for the next one on Thursday. 
> 
> Enjoy and stay well!

Claire woke with a pounding head and an urgent need of hydration. 

It wasn’t surprising given the amount of whisky she had consumed the day before. Though, the nauseating feeling accompanying these symptoms wasn’t all due to the alcohol, she admitted to herself. Mainly provoked by her stupid drunken behaviour with Jamie during their outing at the lake. 

Eyes still closed, she patted onto her bedside table until she touched the glass of water she always kept by her bed. Slowly, she sat up and blinked, letting her sight get accustomed to the bliding morning light peering through the opened bay windows. 

Claire drowned the glass of water in one long quenched sip and leaned against the headboard, closing her eyes again. She had almost forgotten how terrible a hungover felt. After all, it had been a long time since she had experienced one, such as this. 

She caught her reflection in the mirror on the wall opposite the bed: she looked paler than her usual sun kissed cheeks and her curls were all over the place. Full of knots and frizz. She was already dreading having to get up and deal with them. 

_Actually, to have to get up at all._

Claire grabbed her phone and checked on the time, realizing she had slept in later than usual. She decided to quickly text Giulia to tell her she didn’t feel good and the restaurant wouldn’t be open today. Once her task was done, she put her phone back onto the bedside table and got up slowly from her canopy bed — grabbing her cane. 

She let the idea of a bath linger for a moment before deciding to get some coffee and food, first. She didn’t know if she’d be able to keep anything down for a bit but she was starving, nonetheless. 

The stairs took a few more minutes than usual since her head was hazy but, surprisingly, the smell of freshly baked _bomboloni_ didn’t make her feel like puking. Quite the contrary. It warmed her bones and lifted her spirit, managing to put a smile on her face. 

A smile that quickly disappeared as she made her way inside the kitchen, to find Jamie sitting at the kitchen table, with her grandmother. Suddenly, she remembered the Italian lessons Carlotta had scheduled with the Scot. 

“ _Buongiorno_!” Carlotta said cheerfully, getting up at once. 

The voice wasn’t particularly loud to anyone, except to Claire. Which sounded like nails on a chalkboard. 

“Hi,” she mumbled, managing a smile as her grandmother hugged her tightly. 

Her eyes briefly met Jamie’s before looking away just as quickly. The Scot didn’t seem hungover at all, simply a little embarrassed.

“Hello,” Jamie said in a low voice, watching her. 

“Hi,” Claire repeated quickly, not looking at him. 

“I’ll make you a coffee, _amore_. Then Jamie and I have to start the lessons,” Carlotta kissed her cheek but before she could move, Claire stopped her. 

“No no, don’t worry, I’ll do it myself,” she smiled and went to the stove. 

“I won’t bother you for very long,” she added, ignoring her grandmother’s surprised look. 

Claire considered fleeing back to her bedroom but she already was aware of her grandmother’s suspicious glance on her, now. She didn’t want to raise any more questions. So, instead, she stood in the kitchen and prepared her coffee on the _Bialetti_ , like she did every morning. She added water, some grounded coffee and made sure the lid was perfectly closed before putting it on the stove and turning on the flame. 

She tried to forget the fact that she stood in a simple white linen pyjama set: with shorts and a matching top, with no bra. But ignoring the feel of Jamie’s eyes on her was a bit more complicated than she might have liked. 

For once, she found the time until the machine started to brew incredibly long, and it didn’t escape Carlotta that she didn’t once turn around as she waited for the coffee to rise. 

“Aren’t you going to the restaurant today?” Her grandmother’s voice came behind her, full of underlying inquiries. 

“No, not today,” Claire shook her head, pretending to look longer in the cupboard for her mug than it would actually take. 

“My leg feels a bit achy, I don’t feel like standing up all day,” she lied, glad her hidden face wouldn’t give her away. 

“Do you need a painkiller?” 

“I’ll take one and have a bath, don’t worry, _nonna_ ,” she assured her and finally poured some coffee into a mug once it was ready. 

When she finally turned around, she grabbed a sugary pastry from the plate on the table, put it in her mouth and walked out of the kitchen slowly with her coffee in one hand and her cane in the other. 

Carlotta frowned, watching her. Then, she turned her eyes to look at the Scot — who looked like a lovesick puppy, and said in a low voice: “She is not much of a morning person, you know.” 

“Eh?” Jamie reluctantly took his eyes off Claire and looked at her grandmother. 

“Nevermind,” Carlotta smirked, knowing exactly the look of a man in love. 

_“Sei pronto?”_

“I gathered ye just asked me a question but I dinna ken what it was,” Jamie chuckled, rubbing his head. 

“Don’t worry, in a few weeks you will speak Italian like a pro!” She winked and handed him the plate of _bomboloni_. 

***********

A soft knock at the bathroom door shattered Claire’s peace. She had lived here long enough to recognize that knock anywhere. 

Bracing herself, she took a breath, “Come in, nonna.”

Carlotta opened the door and leaned against the doorframe, watching her granddaughter, “Are you feeling better?” 

Claire nodded and smiled, “Yes, the warm water is helping, thank you.” 

“Are you going to tell me what was actually bothering you? Because I never hear you complain about your leg, _stellina_.” 

“Well there’s always a first,” Claire mumbled, leaning back in the bath. The water was starting to get cold and the skin on the tip of her fingers wrinkled. 

“Look,” Carlotta walked inside the room and sat on the edge of the bath. 

“You do not have to tell me anything but if it is about _lo scozzese_ , you should stop feeling sorry for yourself over him and do something about it.”

Claire couldn’t help but tiny chuckle that came out of her mouth as those words were spoken. She had done something about it and it had worsened the situation quite a bit. 

“You are too stubborn, God forbid it comes from my side of the family, I can admit that,” the older lady grinned. 

“But you do need to get over yourself and talk to the man!” 

“Well that is easier said than done, grandma,” Claire sighed. “It’s complicated.” 

“It is only complicated because you made it so. I have seen the way he looks at you and I have seen the way he looks at Mary. From the two, I’d reckon you’re the wife and she is his sister.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Claire closed her eyes, feeling her headache creeping back. 

“Oh, I am being ridiculous? Who still hasn’t asked him if he was married or not?”

Claire looked up at her grandmother, ignoring the amused smile on her face, “Could you pass me the towel? The water’s cold.” 

Carlotta didn’t add anything more and got up. She grabbed the towel and laid it on the edge of the bath, “I’m not here to tell you what to do, _amore_. I’m just here to make sure you don’t regret anything, one day.” 

“I don’t know what’s happening between you and Jamie, I just know his Italian is horrendous and that he’s awfully in love with you.” 

With those words, Carlotta winked and walked out of the en suite bathroom, closing the door after her. Her words hung heavily in the air, suffocating Claire up to a point. 

She got out of the water as quickly as her leg permitted it and wrapped the towel around her body. She walked out of the bay windows, onto the balcony, and sat on the long chair to dry. 

***********

_Jamie had not slept at all that night._

The heat had been insufferable, his head hurt and his thoughts were running a mile a second. Each time he closed his eyes, he’d see Claire: the curly head on the plaid, next to him, laughing cheerfully and looking at him with those whisky eyes of hers he liked to get drunk on. 

His lips tingled with the memory of her kiss, the taste of her lips lingering on them. 

Jamie was tempted to cancel his first Italian lesson with Carlotta to avoid seeing Claire. After what happened at the lake, he was not only embarrassed to see her, it also hurt to think she didn’t want him the way he wanted her. 

The kiss had been a drunken mistake she had regretted immediately. The thought was enough to break his heart.   
  
At the last minute, he decided to go, anyway. He recalled Claire telling him how early she woke up every day to go to the restaurant so he wouldn’t have to bump into her. 

His plan backfired when he sat in the Beauchamp’s rustic kitchen and he heard footsteps coming down in the hall. Panic had crept upon him. Breath hissing and heart pounding against his chest. 

_Then, he saw her._

Curls a mess and linen pyjama crinkled from a night of sleep. The white material was loose on her body, yet a bit sheer, which left not much to his imagination as she stood there. Her sun kissed skin shone in the sunlight while her eyes were still sleepy. 

He was at a loss for words _— even if he had so many things he wanted to say to her._

Those few minutes in the kitchen, Claire had barely spoken or looked at him and there was nothing he could have done about it. 

Jamie knew he had to talk to her _— to apologize if she felt like he had pressured her to do anything._ To let her know he’d be more than happy to simply be friend, if she wanted. Or nothing at all, it was her decision. It wouldn't be easy to live without a heart but he’d do it for her. Simply because it belonged to her — she had healed it, repaired it, bewitched him.   
  
_Like a white witch._

When he moved to Italy, he was a ghost. Crushing under the weight of his grief for his brother, for his family. He had so much anger built inside of him — anger he slowly let go off, without even noticing it. 

Now, he had gone back to being the man he used to be and that was all thanks to Claire. 

A few more days passed until Jamie found the courage to go talk to her. 

Days were his thoughts kept jumping from one thing to another. Where he changed his mind every three minutes and panic pressed like a weight over his chest — as if a piece of steel was stuck there. He had not seen Mary or Nino, throwing himself into work to find an excuse to avoid them but he knew they weren’t fools, they simply loved him enough to leave him alone while he needed to be. 

He had not ventured into the village until now, when he was finally ready to face Claire. _To talk to her._

Usually, service at the restaurant would end around 1.p.m and she’d take another hour to review the next day’s menu and clean up. 

Earlier than he had planned, Jamie sat at the little café on the piazza and ordered an espresso. He would have rather got a glass of whisky but it was, sadly, not on the card. The little cup arrived quickly, accompanied by a _biscotti_ — a delicacy Jamie had quickly taken a liking to, since moving here. 

A young woman was sitting at the table next to him, a book in hand and sunglasses on her head. He recalled seeing her a few times around the village, on market days. She was around his age, with long dark hair in a thick braid. Enchanting green eyes, like a feline and lipstick red lips. 

Sensing his glance on her, she turned her head and smiled warmly at him, _“Ciao.”_

“Hello,” Jamie said quickly, smiling in turn. 

She held a hand out to him, studying him, “I’m Malena.” 

“Och, Jamie,” he answered, shaking her hand. 

“I’ve seen you around quite a bit, Jamie,” she said in perfect english, barely a trace of Italian in her accent. 

“I’m rather hard to miss,” he chuckled, pointing to his fiery hair. 

“Oh yes,” she grinned, putting her book away. “Indeed you are!”

“But you always buy persimmons from my brother’s stall at the market.” 

“Ye’re Pierro’s sister?” He asked, actually not surprised by the fact. In retrospect, the two looked quite alike. 

“ _Si_ ,” she nodded, smiling. “I usually work at the market with him but I’ve been travelling around for a while. I got back here a few days ago.”

“Where ye born here, then?” 

“I was. At my parents’ farm a few minutes away from here, actually.” 

“A farm,” he smiled, recalling Lallybroch. “I like the sound of that.” 

“I could show you around sometime,” she smiled, finishing her cup of coffee. “Only if you like, of course?” 

“Oh nay, I dinna wanna impose.” 

“You wouldn’t, really,” she touched his arm in reassurance. 

Jamie looked quickly down at her hand before he smiled, a bit embarrassed at the attention. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think she was flirting with him.   
_  
Actually, he thought she probably was…_

Until Malena’s glance travelled away from him to where Claire’s restaurant was. 

Jamie watched the way her face changed, illuminating with something he could clearly recognize, having seen it on his face many many times. Her cheeks had turned a bit red, her eyes started to shine. 

The Scot followed the path of her glance, his eyes stopping on Claire who had just come out of work. 

Only then, Jamie Fraser realized he wasn’t the only one in love with Claire Beauchamp. 


	12. The Misunderstanding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> See you Saturday for another chapter.

Jamie stood there, frozen and unable to move. His eyes followed Malena towards the entrance of the restaurant, where Claire was standing. The movements happening slowly and incisively in front of him. 

The sight of Claire, mixed with Malena’s way of looking at his Sassenach made for an anxious cocktail, brewing in his head. 

Both women hugged one another, exchanging happy greetings before hugging again. Jamie guessed they had not seen each other for a little while. When he was about to remove his eyes from them, feeling like a voyeur, Claire looked at him directly.   
  
_Their eyes locked._

Taking a breath, Jamie felt his hand lift up instinctively and he waved at her — cursing himself silently in the process. Too many things were going through his mind but most of all, he was trying to find the words to go and talk to her. 

Malena, who had noticed Claire’s stiffness, turned around and looked at Jamie. Her mouth curled up into a wide smile instantly and, in a second, she was leading Claire towards him. 

His hands suddenly moistened, his stomach felt tight and the inside of his mouth dried up. He couldn’t go anywhere, now. Not that he wanted to...but what on earth was he going to say to her?

“You two know each other?!” Malena asked, still smiling, as they stopped in front of him. 

“Aye...we do,” he managed a smile, his eyes not bothering to turn to look at the woman who wasn’t Claire. 

“Jamie owns the vineyard, next door to ours,” Claire added, looking at her friend. 

“Oh, you didn’t tell me that,” Malena grinned, wrapping her arm around Claire’s shoulders. If she noticed the awkwardness between the Scot and the Englishwoman, she didn’t show it. 

“You two know each other?” The Englishwoman asked, eyebrows raised in question. 

“We talked while I was drinking my coffee and waiting for you to be done at the restaurant,” her friend smiled warmly. 

“I see,” Claire’s eyes landed on Jamie — who was still trying to muster the courage to tell her needed to talk with her. 

His mouth opened slowly but before a sound could come out, Malena spoke first. 

“Well, we are off!” She clasped Claire’s hand and winked at Jamie. “Nice meeting you again, _scozzese_.” 

“Aye, nice meeting ye too,” he answered in a low voice, quite powerless to their imminent departure. 

Jamie stood there as his eyes followed the two women walking away from him. In a second, they had gotten into Claire’s fiat 500 and drove off. Away from the village and away from him. 

“ _Ciao_ ,” came from a little voice next to him. 

Looking down, Jamie’s sight landed on Marcello who had appeared like a ghost. He looked utterly curious and a little bit confused. 

“Marcello, hey,” he smiled and ruffled his curls. 

“Do not touch my _capelli_ ,” the little boy made a face and pulled away. 

“ _Scusa_ ,” Jamie grinned and held up his hands in guilt. 

“What are you doing alone and all sad?” Marcello asked, sitting by the edge of the fountain.

Jamie shrugged and smiled, sitting next to him, “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at school right now?”

“ _Può essere,_ ” Marcello grinned. “But you have not answered my question.”

“Claire, she likes you. You know?” He looked at Jamie, mischief plastered all over his freckled face. 

“And ye ken that, how?” 

“I what?” Marcello asked, confused. 

“How do ye know she likes me, eh?” Jamie repeated his question more clearly for the little boy, whose English wasn’t the first language. 

“When we walk through the garden in the morning for the vegetables, she’s always looking over at your house,” he said, matter of factly. 

“Once I heard her talk about you to her nonna,” he added, smirking. 

“What was she sayin’?” Jamie’s interest indeed peeked. He probably shouldn’t trust an eight-year-old but this was his best chance, at this point. 

“I am not telling you,” Marcello said firmly and got up. 

“Will you come to the festival tomorrow night?” He asked before Jamie could add anything else. 

“Of course, everyone from the village is attendin’ and ‘tis my first year so I wanna see what it is!” 

“You should invite Claire for a dance,” Marcello winked. “She does not like to dance because no one ever asks her to but secretly, she loves it.” 

“I dinna have a choice, do I?” Jamie couldn’t help but chuckle. 

“Not really, no,” the little boy grinned and ran off. 

************

Claire had been attending the festival since her early childhood. Nothing quite beat the sight of the piazza decorated for the occasion — flowers everywhere, like an explosion of colours on a painter’s palette. 

The air smelled of lavender, while the scents of food being prepared by the various stalls started to seep in her nostrils, the various flavours making her mouth water at the simple thought of them. And the music soothing the atmosphere, almost masking the rumble of the voices of the people who were happily exchanging with one another. 

As Claire leaned against a high table, she watched her grandmother with Nino. She couldn’t help but smile at the pair, dancing together, not a care in the world. It was a beautiful sight _— the sight of love._

_The thought of love, however, was a little less pleasant to her._

She had been in love once, or so she thought. Only to see it end in a disaster, swearing it wouldn’t happen again. Now here she was, in love again. Or so she thought. In love with a married man — _again_. 

Sighing, Claire took a sip of her drink and thanked God there was no sight of Jamie nor Mary yet. They were most likely going to show up, she didn’t know what she would do when that would happen. All she knew was that she needed to talk to the Scot to set things once and for all. 

“ _Arrosticini_ incoming!” Malena grinned, depositing a plate onto the table. 

“Now this is a snack I can agree on,” Claire managed a smile and picked up a brochette from the plate. The meat was dressed by a thin layer of salt to give it the salty flavour so distinctive of this traditional food from the region of _Abruzzo_. Something her grandfather introduced her to. 

Without thinking further, Claire started to eat and grinned, “Mmh.” 

“Indeed,” Malena chuckled and started to eat as well. 

“ _Amore, vieni a ballare!_ ” Her grandmother called loudly, waving at her. 

Claire shook her head, smiling, “No, I’m fine. You keep dancing.” 

“Oh come on,” Malena pouted, looking at her. “Just once! With me?”

“I’ll never go and dance, ever” she ate, still smiling. “I hate it.” 

_That was a lie._

Claire loved to dance but she didn’t try to since her accident. Not only because she was too slow for the music but also because she felt foolish. 

“Well I’m going,” Malena kissed her cheek and disappeared into the crowd to join Carlotta and Nino. 

Claire smiled absently and finished her _arrosticini_ , already making a mental note to go and get more at some point during the evening. Suddenly, her body tensed, sensing Jamie’s presence nearby. It didn’t take very long for her eyes to scan her surroundings and to land on the Scot...closely followed by Mary, who looked radiant with her prominent bump. 

Whenever the sight of him arose, goosebumps would erupt on her skin. Her lips began to tingle with the memories of a drunken kiss shared hungrily. Her breath came out short while her heart thumped madly against her ribcage. 

_She hated the way he made her feel as she relished in the feeling all the same._

Jamie was leaning close to Mary, saying something close to her ear. The woman nodded, looking in Claire’s direction briefly before touching Jamie’s arm in a tender gesture. The blonde gave him a peck on the cheek and smiled before leaving him in the crowd. During this, his blue eyes never left Claire once. 

Claire finished her drink quickly to find some courage as he started to make his way to her. Her ears were ringing, her heart had not slowed down. The more he approached, the more anxiety steeped in. 

_What on earth was she going to say to him?!_

She had not much time to dwell on the details. The Scot stood in front of her, a slight smile on his face. He seemed...nervous. Almost as much as she was. And she didn’t know what to do with such information. On the other hand, she realised he must feel just as ashamed as she was after what happened. After all, he was married. 

“Sassenach,” his voice broke through the noise, warm and thick like a good caramel. 

“Hi,” she answered quickly, looking up at him.

“Fancy meeting you here,” she added before cursing herself silently. Why this man made her feel and behave like a dumb teenager, she didn’t know. 

Jamie chuckled softly at this as if the awkwardness between them was slowly fading away. In a sense, it was. No matter their situation, there was an easiness between them. Something Claire had never experienced with anybody before meeting the Scot. 

“How are ye doin’, Sassenach?” He asked, rubbing the back of his neck like a little boy caught stealing candies. 

“I’m...well. Thank you,” she managed a polite smile and decided a little small talk would do before she’d rip the band-aid off. Once they would have talked, nothing would ever be the same between them. She didn’t want to lose his friendship but she wasn’t sure she could be near this man without wanting him. 

“How are you?” She asked in turn. 

“Och, I’m doin’ well too...I’ve got a bottle of wine to make ye taste. No’ here wi’ me but I should bring it over the restaurant one day.”

“Oh, you do? Lovely.” Claire couldn’t help but look around to see if Mary was watching them. But to Jamie, she simply looked completely disinterested from what he was saying. 

“Aye,” he frowned slightly, watching her. “Are ye sure ye are alright?” 

“Yes!” She said quickly, looking at him again. “Perfectly fine, thank you.”

“Would ye like another drink?” 

Claire shook her head, managing not to add that one was enough and that she didn’t need to be drunk in his presence ever again. 

“All right,” Jamie nodded and smiled softly. 

Silence fell between them — though words were floating around them. Words they needed to say to one another to clear the air and start all over again. But it took a little while before one of them decided to break the ice. 

“I wanted to talk to you about something,” Claire finally said, ripping the band-aid at once. 

“Aye,” he nodded, clearly looking even more nervous than when he arrived. “So do I.”

“Oh,” she watched him, not expecting this. “Sure...well then I think we should go somewhere a little bit quieter.” 

Together, they walked slowly away from the piazza, towards a quieter nook, away from the prying eyes of Carlotta, Nino, Mary and Malena. Much to Claire’s despair, she couldn’t disappear quietly without being seen, she was too slow. 

At last, they reached in a corner, the faint noise of the party coming through but not much else. Facing one another, they looked like two kids who didn’t know what to do. 

“So…” Claire started without really starting. 

“Aye,” Jamie watched her, doing a shrugging like motion as if he was uncomfortable in his own clothes. 

“What is it, Sassenach?” He reached towards her cheek to stroke a stray curl away but she pulled away. 

Jamie frowned but didn’t say anything; he simply waited for her to say whatever she needed to say. Claire was aware of the knot in her stomach but what she didn’t know was how Jamie was feeling exactly like she did. 

Terrified — _simply not for the same reasons._

“First I wanted to apologize for the other day...I wish you didn’t have to see me completely wasted,” she started, looking down at her feet. She didn’t see the tiny smile forming on his lips at the memory. 

“Then, I wanted to apologize for the kiss...it should have never happened.” 

_Silence._

Jamie tensed but didn’t answer. He said nothing until Claire looked up slowly, realising the look of utter sadness plastered all over his face. 

“Do ye regret it?” He asked softly, his voice barely a whisper. 

No, she didn’t regret it but she couldn’t tell him that. 

“Don’t you?” She frowned, her turn to be confused. 

“Weel, no, not really.” He said sincerely, looking at her. 

“Why should I regret it?” 

Claire blinked, her nervousness turning into something else: annoyance. “Excuse me?”

“Why should I regret kissin’ ye, uh?” He asked again.

“Oh so you are an asshole,” she scoffed and shook her head. “I should have seen it coming.” 

“What?” Jamie’s eyes widened. 

“You can’t have your cake and eat it too, you know?” She rolled her eyes. “You’ve been anything but a gentleman to me but I saw you flirting with me from time to time and I accepted it. I even encouraged it...I’m not blaming this solemnly on you —”

“Sassenach, what on earth are ye talkin’ about?” He interrupted her but she didn’t care. She kept going. 

“I enjoyed the attention, it made me feel very special and I couldn’t deny how attracted I was to you but I let it go way too far, knowing you weren’t available to me.”

Jamie stood there, simply confused at the gibberish she was saying and since he didn’t say anything, she continued: 

“Then with the kiss and all, I realised how much I have misled you...I feel terrible for it, still but now, knowing you don’t even regret it? Are you for real?”

“Claire…” Jamie reached for her arm but she took a step back. 

“You are married! What type of guy are you?! I told you what went down with Frank and you sat there, listening to me while knowing you were in the same situation and now you’re basically telling me you would follow through with me while still being with your wife.”

“Claire,” The Scot repeated, aware she was getting pissed by the second but unable to do anything about it unless she actually listened to him. 

“I don’t really want to know what you have to say to me, Jamie,” she sighed, calming down a little bit. 

“I just think we shouldn’t hang out together anymore.” 

“‘Tis a shame because I wanted to ask ye out to dance tonight,” he said, not able to prevent the smile forming on his lips. 

Claire shook her head and started to walk away from him. She knew he’d be able to catch up to her in a second but she couldn’t stand being near this man for another second. She felt guilty, sad and angry. 

“Sassenach,” Jamie grabbed her free hand gently. “Can ye come back here a second? I think ye should listen to what I have to say and if after that ye still think I’m an asshole, ye’ll never have to lay eyes on me again.”

Claire stood there for a moment, feeling the warmth of his hand against hers. After all, listening to him wouldn’t cost anything — the damages were already done.

Slowly, she turned around and looked at him. 

“I dinna ken how to tell ye that…” Jamie looked down for a second before looking up at her again. He had not let go of her hand. 

“But I’m no’ married, Sassenach.” 

Claire blinked, not too sure she had heard him correctly, “I’m sorry, wot?”

Jamie’s smile grew, a mixture of happiness and amusement, “I’m no’ married. Nor am I in a relationship, actually.”

“But…”Claire frowned, still processing. “But Mary —”

“Mary is my sister-in-law,” Jamie quickly added. 

“She was married to my late brother for the past six years and ‘tis his bairn she is expectin’...she’s been our friends since childhood and I’m afraid she never had eyes for anyone but my brother Willie.”

“Good God,” she mumbled, waiting for the floor to open up and swallow her. She had felt foolish many times in her life but this might probably take the cake. 

“As for me,” Jamie took a step toward her, his large hand cupping her cheek. 

“I’m afraid I’ve only got eyes for ye, a nighean.” 

“I…” Claire was speechless — which, whoever knew Claire Beauchamp, didn’t happen often. All she managed to do was start to laugh nervously, relieved at the information.

“I’m mortified,” she chuckled, burying her face against his chest. 

Jamie wrapped his arm around her and held her close, chuckling with her, “Ye could just have asked me!”

“I should have asked you, yes,” Claire looked up and smiled warmly. 

“Weel, now ye ken I’m a free lad, no’ tied to a lass,” he stroked her hair away from her face, his eyes locked with her. 

“I’m very glad to hear it,” Claire cupped his cheek, smiling. “Very glad, indeed.”

“But there is somethin’ I am wonderin’ about ye, Sassenach…”

She frowned, looking at him inquisitively, “Well, shoot. It can’t be more humiliating than me thinking for months that you were married and about to become a father.”

“No, ‘tis true,” he chuckled before bringing her hand to his lips. 

“I was wonderin’ if ye’d dance wi’ me tonight? A wee birdie told me ye love to dance.”

“I don’t love to dance,” Claire lied, nibbling on her bottom lip. “Even less when there are people around.”

Jamie looked around before looking at her again, a mischievous grin on his lips, “I can hear music but no one is around to see us. They are busy at the party to even wonder where we’ve been.” 

“I can’t dance with a cane,” she pointed out. 

Gently, Jamie grabbed the cane away from her hand and rested it against the nearest wall. With that, he took her hand and wrapped his other arm around her waist, “Dinna fash, Sassenach, I’ve got ye.” 

“Now...will ye dance wi’ me?” Jamie asked again, smiling tenderly. 

Stepping closer to him, Claire realised how safe she felt in his arms, with no need to rely on her cane. She tiptoed and whispered against his lips, “Only if you kiss me first.” 

“That can be arranged,” was the last thing the Scot said before their lips met, this time with more plans to meet again. 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...this is going the last chapter, not only of this story but of fics I update for a little while. I decided to step back and have a break from writing. I don’t know how long I’ll be away but I wanted to thank every single person who has ever read a word I wrote, might it be silently or by leaving comments/asks/kudos. I hope you’ll enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it and maybe, someday, I’ll come back with ficlets about those two. 
> 
> Thank you <3

Claire felt particularly giddy this morning, the thoughts of what happened last night at the festival floating in her mind. It was slightly too soon to start laughing at her own stupidity over the matter of Jamie’s marital status but she wasn’t going to dwell on her past mistakes and her stubbornness. 

All she cared now was that Jamie wasn’t married, nor about to be a father. Most importantly, he was very much into her and not even the foolishness of the whole misunderstanding could remove the smile plastered on her face since their shared kisses. 

His lips had been soft, faintly stained by red wine. She stopped counting the amount of time she tried to grasp their taste by licking her own, since waking up. 

Later than she usually would, Claire finally got up from the comfort of her bed and made her way to the balcony. Briefly, she closed her eyes, basking in the morning sunlight crashing directly against her skin. The warmth tingle made her smile — though her smile wasn’t completely due to the weather, she admitted. But smiling she did, nonetheless. 

Suddenly, her phone rang into the room, rudely interrupting the blissful moment. 

Claire let it ring a few times before she decided to make her way back into the room. Given her pace, It would probably stop ringing the second she reached the bedside table. 

_It didn’t._

Instead, the screen lit up over and over again with the name that occupied her every thought. 

_Jamie._

The little smile from a minute before was gone. Long forgotten and had now been replaced by a broad grin. A childlike giddiness that took over her entire being as if she was six, discovering gifts on Christmas morning. 

Usually, the cynic in her would have rolled her eye and made a couple of rude comments about the pathetic state she found herself in. _Fuck cynicism, at least for a little while._

Claire reached for the phone, ignoring her shaky fingers and slid her finger on the screen to pick up. Slowly, almost fearfully to find out it wasn’t him who actually called, she placed the phone against her ear. 

“ _Pronto?_ ” She said instinctively in Italian before realising she did. 

Then she heard something she never heard on the phone until that morning. Something she didn’t even know one could hear through a receiver. Something she would have laughed at, if someone had told her. 

_She heard a smile_ — it was warm. It was broad. It was slightly shy, too. 

“ _Pronto, Sassenach,”_ the voice _— his voice —_ was exactly how she had heard it a million times before. Soothing, strong, but a little bit croaked with sleep, still. Smooth like velvet under her fingertips. It was a voice she wanted to hear every day for the rest of her life. 

“Hello stranger,” Claire regained her composure, smiling to herself. 

“Come out on the balcony again, a nighean,” he asked her. “I want to see ye.” 

Claire turned around, still standing in her bedroom. Afar, she could see him standing on his own balcony. Red curls ruffled from sleep, holding his phone and leaning against the edge. His blue eyes seemed to be shiny in the morning light, looking straight at her. 

Jamie held up his hand and wave slowly until she was finally on her balcony again, waving back. 

“How did ye sleep?” He took up the conversation again, watching her from the other side of the estate. 

“I slept very well, thank you,” she reflected, realising it had been a while her night had been so peaceful. She didn’t have nightmares about her accident, nor about her parents. 

“How did you sleep?” She asked in turn, watching him with a smile. 

“Och, verra well too,” he seemed to be smiling bigger. 

“Though my wife snores quite loudly so I woke up a few times, ken?” 

Claire let out a laugh, one that resonated through the garden all the way to him. A laugh that made him laugh, as well.

“Jamie!”

“What? Too soon, mo nighean donn?” he grinned, waving again. 

“Too soon.” Claire raised her hand and flipped him the bird, grinning. 

“Now ye’re just bein’ rude to me, Claire.” Jamie shook his head, grinning. 

“You started.” She pointed out, leaning on her cane. 

“Are we already going to argue? We’ve been a couple for less than twenty-four hours.” 

“Wait, are we a couple?” Her tone was full of mischief. 

They didn’t really talk very much last night, after the misunderstanding has been cleared. _They danced, they kissed._ They drank some wine and kissed again. Then, Jamie had walked her home, kissed her goodnight and now they were both standing on their respective balconies, watching one another as they talked on the phone. 

“I’m only asking because you didn’t really ask me to be your girlfriend, _ken_?” She took his accent for the last bit of her sentence and that made him laugh again. 

“I ken,” he repeated after her. “I just thought ye got the hint with the number of kisses I gave ye last night. And ye gave back.” 

“Well? As much as I enjoyed those kisses, I’m a very traditional woman —”

Jamie cut her off by hanging up suddenly and disappearing from the balcony to his own room. 

Claire looked at her phone in confusion and then again at the empty neighbouring balcony. She was aware her sense of humour was questionable, she didn’t think he’d take it personally. 

Sighing, she put the phone onto the table. She was about to lean against the wall when she heard steps down in the garden. Fast steps, as if someone was running. 

_Someone was running._

Said someone was tall, ginger, Scottish and in his pyjamas — which consisted of old navy sports shorts and a bare chest. Jamie stood under her balcony, looking up and grinning like an idiot. An idiot she badly wanted to kiss again. 

“ _Buongiorno, Sassenach,_ ” he said, a bit out of breath. 

“There you are,” she smirked, looking down. “I thought you went back to your wife.” 

“Ouch,” he touched his heart, chuckling. “I thought it was too soon?” 

“I changed my mind,” she shrugged, her smirk widening. “Would you have a question for me, perhaps?” 

“Aye, I do have a question for ye actually.” 

Without another word, Jamie started to climb onto the wall to get access to her balcony, which prone her to shake her head, “Jamie, one with a cane in this relationship is already enough.” 

“I thought ye were no’ sure we actually were a couple or no’?” He remarked, getting onto the balcony like a skilful cat. 

“Well —” her smirk grew, mischief plastered all over her beautiful face. 

Claire had not much time to answer that the Scot’s arms came to wrap around her waist, holding her close to him. She let go of her cane, wrapping her arms around his neck. She tried to ignore his body pressed against her own — both of them in light sleepwear, without much underneath those garments. He was just as aware as her but he didn’t mention it, either. 

“ _Well_?” He tilted his head in question, smiling. “Are ye my girlfriend, then?”

“You sound like a five year old,” she kissed the tip of his nose, smiling. 

“What else we ye like me to say?” He chuckled, stroking her cheek. 

“Why don’t you carry me inside and we can work it out, together?” Her words erased the smile from his face immediately as he understood what she just asked him. Replacing the mischievous glint in his eyes but something else. It came like a wave, darkening his eyes all of a sudden. 

_Lust._

“Are ye sure, Sassenach?” He asked, his voice growing quiet. 

“I am,” she looked up at him, suddenly growing self-conscious. “But we don’t have to, if you don’t...I mean, it’s all right.” 

“Christ.” One of his hand came up to cup her cheek, her face melting against it at once. His forehead pressed against hers, his body too. 

“I want ye so much I can scarcely breathe, Claire.” 

A tender kiss was the response she gave him. Their lips meeting slowly, at first, before growing with hunger. They danced a slow dance toward her bedroom but then, Jamie lifted her up — like she was the most precious thing in his world and laid her onto the dishevelled bed. 

Leaning over her, his hand stroked the length of her linen covered body while his lips were still tangled with hers. They were a little bit chapped, a little bit sweet and perfect to capture between her own. 

A little breathless, they looked at one another for a moment, eyes locked. 

“I…” she croaked that out, not realising right away the way her voice broke. 

“I haven’t done this since before my accident.” 

“We dinna have to…” he smiled, stroking a curl away from her face. 

“No, I want to,” she assured him, touching his cheek — she was pretty sure she had never wanted anything, anyone, more than she wanted him just now. 

“I’m just —” she watched him — his heartbreaking face, his shiny slanted eyes looking at her with so much empathy she wanted to weep. 

“I don’t want you to be disappointed.” 

“I dinna think ye’re aware of the amount of times I thought about ye like this, Sassenach,” he smiled, stroking her cheek. “I doubt I could ever be disappointed.” 

“You’re saying this now…” 

“I could be verra bad too for all ye know,” he kissed the tip of her nose and rolled them over carefully so she was both on top and more comfortable to rest her leg. 

That made her chuckle softly, regaining some composure and confidence. _Would it always be so easy with him? So light?_

She realized it was pointless to try and find things to nitpick to make herself feel better. He was there to make her feel better now and he seemed quite adamant to make sure she wouldn’t second guess herself ever again. No matter the time or the circumstances. 

“I doubt you’d be that bad,” she stroked his cheek, the scruff rubbing against her finger. 

“Then let me show ye ye’re no’ bad either, Sassenach,” Jamie captured her lips, his hands sliding down her back to take a firm grip of her buttocks. 

Claire manoeuvred slowly to sit up on him, his hands moving to his legs, her waist...her belly. She opened the only button of her linen top before lifting it slide off her shoulders. With a swift motion, it landed on the wooden floor.   
  
Soon, her knickers joined the piece of linen onto the floor. Quickly followed by his shorts and the rest of the shyness they both still possessed. 

******* 

Claire laid tangled against Jamie, eyes closed and heartbeat slow. Her scarred leg was wrapped over his body while his hand rested on her thigh. She couldn’t see that his eyes were open. She didn’t know how fascinated he was by the warm glow the sunlight cast on her bare body. She couldn’t see how intensely he was observing her, memorising every detail of her that he already knew by heart, while smiling tenderly. 

_She couldn’t see but she sensed it._  
  
Slowly, she opened her eyes to look at him and smiled in turn. She couldn’t help the heat rising in her cheeks, making her blush. Wrapped in a newfound intimacy, there was nowhere to hide from him _— not that she wanted to hide, anyway._

“I thought ye were fallin’ asleep,” Jamie said softly, kissing her temple. 

“I was,” she grinned, nuzzling his neck and holding him closer. 

There was no noise in the room save from the noise of their synchronized breathing and the crickets outside. It was like being in a bubble, floating without purpose because one didn’t need any. 

“Isn’t yer grandmother going to look for ye?” He asked, stroking her leg with the tip of his fingers. 

He felt her smile against his neck before she mumbled, “Don’t worry, she’s at Nino’s.” 

“Look at those two, eh? Wilder than the youngsters,” He chuckled, holding her closer. 

Claire looked up at him, smirking, “Can we avoid thinking about my grandmother sex life when we’re lying naked in bed, darling? Or any day, actually.” 

“Do ye think they’d still do it?” 

She laughed this time, “Would you stop making love to me when we’re their ages? They’re both in rather good shape and it’s also a new relationship for them both.”

“I’ve just started makin’ love to ye and ye already want to ken when I’ll stop?” He kissed her tenderly before whispering against her lips, “Because I dinna plan on stoppin’ anytime soon, Sassenach.” 

“That is all I wanted to know,” she returned the kiss and held him close. 

After a few minutes of restored silence, Jamie spoke again. His voice was low and his tone tentative, this time, “Claire?”

“What is it?” She stroked his chest, looking up at him. She quickly followed where his eyes were staring at and realised it was her leg. 

“Does it hurt?” He looked at her, worry floating in his ocean eyes. 

“It doesn’t hurt right now,” she smiled, kissing his jaw. 

“You know,” she moved a bit, her bare chest pressing against his. “I’ve got a piece of titanium in my knee.” 

“Oh have ye?” He smiled, stroking her long curls back. “Ye’re a wee bit bionic, then?”

She laughed, nuzzling his cheek, “I’m not sure that’s how it works, you know? Plus, aren’t bionic people very fast and agile?” 

“From what I just witnessed, I must say ye are pretty agile, a nighean,” he grinned, lightly smacking her behind. 

“Shut up,” she giggled, kissing his neck. 

“Does the security go off at the airport when ye go through?” 

“Yes but the cane scares off the guards so they don’t bother me so much,” she smirked, nibbling his earlobe. 

The questions were hanging in the air between them. He wouldn’t speak the words but Claire decided it was time to tell him what happened to her. After all, he wouldn’t change a thing between them. 

“You know,” she stroked his chest, “it’s been three years now.”

“Since yer accident,” he added, stroking her scar. It was more visible when she was tanned like she was now, going all the way up from her calf to her waist as if someone had draw a long line with white chalk. 

“Ye dinna have to talk about it, Sassenach,” he held her close, looking at her eyes. “I’d listen if ye need me to but I dinna want to force ye into anythin’.”

“I don’t mind,” she reassured him, smiling. “I’m happy you never asked, like most people who meet me do, but I don’t mind talking about it with you. I really don’t.” 

“And to be quite honest with you, there isn’t much to say.”

Gently, Jamie cupped her chin and brought her closer to capture her lips in a tender kiss. One she returned with an equal sentiment. “I’m listenin’, _amore mio._ ” 

“It seems that _il tuo italiano sta migliorando._ ”

“It seems that I didn’t understand the rest of yer sentence!”

“I just said that it seems your Italian is improving,” she smiled, cuddling against him. “Don’t worry, you’ll get there.” 

“Aye,” he smiled in turn, bringing her hand to his lips. “Now, tell me.” 

“I used to ride a motorcycle. I first got a Vespa when I was eighteen to get around the village but I wanted something faster, bigger so I passed a proper license. I loved riding around, taking trips and so on. I wasn’t very careful...the more adrenaline I had, the more I wanted.” 

“I’ve tried to feel being alive since I was a kid and gradually, my recklessness grew as I did. I pushed my limits, not caring about the consequences of my actions. Might it be on me or on other people,” her eyes dropped at that statement, recalling the numerous times she gave her grandparents scares. 

Jamie lifted her chin slowly and watched her with a smile for her to keep going. His eyes were full of sadness, too. 

“So, three years ago, when I broke up with Franklin it was really bad. I went out all the time, I partied, I wasn’t really taking care of myself. After one drunken party, I hopped on my motorcycle and drove as fast as I usually would…”

She took a long breath, feeling her leg ache again at the memories, “I don’t actually recall what really happened. I’ve been told I didn’t stop at a red light and a truck hit me on full speed. I landed a few feet from the place where it happens and my motorcycle crushed my leg.” 

“Christ, Sassenach…” he held her closer, as if she’d disappear all of a sudden. 

“After that, I stayed in a coma for a few weeks and I had multiple surgeries. When I finally woke up, I had to stay in bed for a long time...a couple of months. Doctors told me I’d never walk again but that I should be happy to have my head and the rest of my body intact, given the force of the crash.” 

“I couldn’t accept being stuck in a wheelchair, at least not forever. So when I finally was discharged and got home, I’d get up from the chair every day and I’d try to walk. I fell most of the time for the first few weeks. I fell but I got up and pushed through until one day, I stopped falling and I got myself a cane.” 

“Ye are the most resilient person I’ve ever met, Claire,” he said softly, his eyes shiny with unshed tears. 

“Most people are,” she smiled, stroking a tear that escaped his eye away. “I’m also very stubborn which I guess helped in this case.” 

“Aye,” he nodded and smiled, “I’m verra thankful that ye are.” 

“Ye know, Sassenach...my brother died from a motorcycle accident too. ‘Twas a few months before Mary and I moved here. When I came, I was angry, I was sad, I dinna understand why it happened and why I was still followin’ along wi’ the move to Italy but seein’ ye on the piazza that first day, I immediately realised that whatever happened to me in my life — from when I was a wee lad to the passin’ of my parents, of Willie, ‘twas all for me to make my way here.”

He rested his forehead against hers, whispering, “To make my way to ye.”

Claire cupped his cheek, feeling his skin melt against her palm, and kissed him. 

There was a faint noise, there and then— _barely audible._ It was the sound of two souls finally reuniting, after years of searching for one another. 


End file.
